Declaration
by F1yMordecai
Summary: 1949, Post-WWII. When Shinji came back to Japan, he quickly found trouble and knew Hiyori was at the root of it...he just didn't expect the Yakuza, too. Danger approaches through new enemies and old feelings. Slight AU, Strong Language, Violence, Lemons
1. The Long Night Begins Side A

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.  
Contains major spoilers for the "Turning Back the Pendulum" canon story arc.

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_Yokohama, 1949._

In the dimly lit room filled with people and chatter from the tables surrounding him, Hirako Shinji leaned back in against the worn leather in a booth far too large to house one person. Although this bar was packed, no one dared to come near him except for the occasional drunk and disoriented female looking for a good time or a quick buck. He supposed it because of the way that he looked that people kept their distance. World War II had only been over for four years and the large cities of Japan were trying to rebuild themselves, slowly adjusting to occupied regions of American soldiers. Nearly everyone assumed that he was foreigner because of his natural blond hair and hazel eyes. The truth was that he was once a stranger to this land, but that was hundreds of years ago. After his death and going to Soul Society, he embraced the Japanese culture and called it his own, having long forgotten his native tongue and homeland.

He thumbed across the top of a shallow glass filled with a dark liquid and brought the rim up to his face, deeply inhaling the scents of a dominating smoke and lightly floral oak. He sipped, letting the aromatic liquor settle across his tongue before swallowing. It left a warm path as it traveled down his throat into his stomach.

Now that was the good stuff.

The sound of crashing poker chips caught his ear and he turned his head into the direction of the commotion. A heavyset man was yelling at a fellow card player, calling him a cheat. The dealer tried to reason with the obviously inebriated man by explaining the situation and instead found a fist coming towards his head. A young man in an expensive suit quickly appeared out of nowhere and easily overtook the sloppy punch. He spoke firmly but calmly to the drunken man, although at this point his words were falling on deaf ears. When the card player pulled back for another swing, the well-dressed youth immediately pulled a Walther P38 out from the inside of his suit jacket and struck the man across his temple with the grip. With his free hand raised in the air, he snapped his fingers and pointed down to the unconscious man. A group of men around the same age promptly appeared and dragged the man to the front doors, unceremoniously tossing him out onto the curbside.

Concealing his weapon, the young man with shaggy, layered hair—so dark it barely had any sheen—straightened the creases out on his pin-stripe suit and looked around the rest of the gambling bar with an air of authority. His juniper tinted eyes shot a warning to the other patrons, remaining cold and calculated as they moved from table to table. "This was nothing," they spoke clearly to the crowd, and they immediately understood what he meant. After all, this place was owned and operated by the growing Yakuza gang Inagawa, and you had to be stupid to willingly start a fight here unless you were prepared to kill or be killed.

Shinji caught eyes with the young leader as his stoic gaze passed by his table, and he tipped the rim of his fedora hat down to the Yakuza member as a sign of respect. He wasn't there to start any trouble unless, of course, _she_ had other ideas. It was still baffling to find that she of all people was working as a waitress in an illegal gambling bar. He had to see this for himself, so he hopped on the next train to Yokohama and found himself sitting here in this dank room on the northeast side of the city.

His whisky was getting low by the time he finally caught her out of the corner of his eye. It was just a flash of light blonde, but he knew it was her. Her hair was still pulled back into pigtails, but this time they were hastily wound into buns with her signature red ribbons. Long bangs brushed across her face and large amber eyes. The freckles on her high cheekbones had grown a little darker over the years, but the rest of her was the same. The same pouty lips lead down to the sharp point of her chin. She had always been petite, and the modern clothes clung to her small curves.

As much as she tried, she still barely looked a day over fifteen. It was rather amusing to watch this group of young men trying to chat her up. If they only knew that this seemingly teenage girl was old enough to be their grandmother and could have easily snapped their necks if she pleased, they would have been wiser than to put moves on her. So when one of the rowdy boys gave her a hard slap on her bottom as she left with their order, Shinji sat back to watch the violent chaos unfold.

But it didn't. She froze and her fist coiled at her side so hard that her knuckles turned white, but then she just walked away from the laughing group without even looking back.

Shinji frowned. This wasn't the Sarugaki Hiyori that he knew. The Hiyori he knew would have made those men spin around faster than they ever thought they could, then repeatedly punch their face into the ground. She would have left them black and blue, standing over the pile of their broken bodies with a triumphant look on her face, laughing maniacally. The Sarugaki Hiyori he knew would have never let a man touch her like that in first place.

Soon enough, she was back with a round tray filled with various beers, whisky and sake. She never made eye contact with any of the men in the group as she placed their drinks in front of them, at least, not until one of the larger ones grabbed her arm with a tight grip. Her short brows furrowed and her mouth flattened into a thin line. But still, she didn't fight back. Shinji shook his head with disappointment, sucking his teeth in a grimace.

Placing a few bills next to his unfinished drink, he slid out of the booth and made his way to the group, which had already started to get disapproving stares from nearby tables.

"Is there a problem here, Miss?" Shinji drawled out, discreetly placing his head close in between two of the men.

"No, I'm fine," Hiyori responded in a barely controlled tone. She turned her face over to see who had interrupted and practically choked on the air in her lungs.

"Sh-Shinji?" she stammered, her eyes growing wider as the seconds ticked by like minutes.

"Hey, kitten," he flashed a toothy grin. "How goes it?"

Hiyori couldn't speak—she simply stared at him in shock. One of the men at the table glanced back and forth between the two of them and broke the awkward silence. "So what, are you her brother or somethin'?"

The obnoxious voice snapped Hiyori out of her trance. She shook her head firmly. The light of hope that had shone in her eyes when she saw him again for the first time in nearly twenty years quickly died.

"No. He's no one."

With those few words, she turned away from the group and headed towards the back. Shinji immediately fell behind in step behind her, maneuvering through the dense crowd with ease. He caught her elbow before she could retreat into a highly guarded area and pulled her into a narrow hallway.

"Get your mitts off me, dickhead," Hiyori instantly hissed, jerking her arm away from him and crossing them under her chest.

"Now there's the Hiyori I knew," Shinji teased, peering at her under half-lidded eyes. If it wasn't for her foul mouth, she would be damn cute. Her small hip jutted to the side as she struck her pose. The knee-length black dress exposed her smooth, toned calves and a row of buttons lining the side left side followed the curve of her modestly sized breasts. He had to mentally kick himself to get back on track.

"So, how've you been? I mean, except for _not_ kicking those goons in their jewels for grabbing your ass."

"None of your goddamned business," she grumbled. She moved to get past him, but he struck an arm out in front of her steps to block her path.

"You gettin' soft?"

"Don't make me break your fuckin' nose, Shinji."

"Like you could ever reach that high." A solid crunch reached Shinji's ears and the sting of salt water immediately pricked his eyes as the pain spread across his face. He sniffled and wiped fresh warm blood from under his nose.

"You hit like a girl," he slyly grinned. Hiyori growled and reeled back for a second blow, but Shinji was faster and caught her wrist midair, her tiny fist curled into a tight ball less than an inch from his face. He pulled her arm towards him, bringing her closer and leaned down until his eyes were at her level.

"See? You _are_ gettin' soft."

"You're a prick." Hiyori's face was twisted into a scowl. She looked away from him when his thumb rubbed across the skin on her wrist.

"So were those thugs at the table, but I don't see you wailing on them."

"You deaf or something? I said it's none of your fuckin' business."

"I think you used a different swear word the first time you said it."

"Fuck you," Hiyori spat. The petite girl struggled to get her hand free from Shinji's grip, but was in no position to get away. The hall was narrow and she was close enough to him as it was.

"I'll let you go if you fess up," Shinji relaxed his grip. Her brows were knitted together in such fury it made him smile on the inside. At least she wasn't completely a softie, she was just acting like it for some reason. From the outer room someone was calling for her to check on her tables so at this point, she didn't have a choice. Defeated, Hiyori jutted her chin up to him with full authority, letting him know she was saying this out of protest.

"Look _asshole_, I can't have another outburst, okay? I can't afford to lose this job." Her eyes dropped in a light shame and her voice grew quieter with the last sentence.

"Do you need money? I can give you—"

"It's not about the money," she snapped.

"What then?"

Hiyori shot her head up and glared, making their height difference all but disappear from the fire in eyes. "Why the hell do you care?" her voice dripped with venom.

Shinji was taken aback by her hostility. Sure, she had always been a firecracker with a short fuse, but she had never really meant it. The fighting and name-calling was a game, but this was something entirely different. This time she genuinely furious with him. After what happened those years ago, he couldn't really blame her for being mad—it just wasn't something he expected for her to hold onto for so long. Without saying another word, he relaxed his grip on her wrist and she jerked it away, stepping away from him until her back was against the wall.

"Do me a favor, will ya?" Hiyori pointed her nose up high in the air when she spoke. "Just turn around and walk out of here. That's what you're best at."

He stood calmly, sliding his hands into his pockets. He looked deep into her amber eyes to find out what she was conflicted about—her voice said one thing but her eyes said another. She huffed, moving some of her bangs before she closed her eyes and shook her head. She spun on her heel and started to leave him alone in the dark hallway.

"I talked to Kisuke," Shinji piped up before she left out into the open. Hiyori froze in her tracks but didn't turn to face him. When she didn't move from her spot, he took slow steps towards her.

"He and Yoruichi are back at the shop in Karakura. Can you believe that stupid place held up through the war? Tessai must have put up one hell of a kidou barrier to keep it intact."

She still didn't move or speak, but also didn't shake him off when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be waiting for you when get off the clock," he said in her ear.

Hiyori tilted her head back, peering at him from the corners of her large almond eyes. "Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," she scoffed.

His hand slipped off her shoulder as she left him alone in the corridor. Moments later, he walked out and found his booth occupied with a large group of couples. He surveyed the room and saw an empty seat at the dim end of the bar, going over to claim it. He sat, immediately ordering another glass of single-malt whisky. He tried to enjoy the drink, but it was difficult, seeing that Hiyori was back with the rowdy group of men, ignoring their advances even though a vein was ready to pop on her forehead. Shinji shook his head and moved his gaze to the golden-brown liquor swirling in the shallow glass.

This was going to be long night.

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews give me warm fuzzies!

**Author's Notes:**

First, a HUGE thank you to **JasoTheArtisan** for the encouragement and beta read. Go read his stuff, NOW.

I hope you guys enjoy this one...I've been really exciting about working on it, especially dipping into the potential of Shinji and Hiyori's complicated relationship. This story is my idea of what *could* have happened in the times after the Vizards' exile, but before the current story line. Expect cameos by special characters from the current Bleach storyline, although it may not be in their current form (hint, hint).

(Bonus points go to those who caught who the lead Inagawa gang member is in the real Bleach story!)


	2. The Long Night Begins Side B

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.

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Sarugaki Hiyori was not having a good night. In fact, she hadn't really had a good night in the past ten years, and tonight was no exception.

Ten years ago, she had been making her way across Europe when she'd gotten an unsettling feeling as she left Poland. The next morning, the headlines had been everywhere about the German invasion and declaration of war from Britain and France. From then on out, she'd stayed one step ahead of the Germans, finally fleeing to the small island territory of Hawaii. Then, one fateful Sunday morning, all hell had broken loose as she'd witnessed planes owned by a country she would have called home attacking the island in a barrage of gunfire and bombs.

In her time in exile, she'd tried her best to stay out of the war and away from the humans, but this had been too big to escape. She'd been trained by Urahara in the arts of healing and was familiar with the equipment the hospitals were using to treat wounds, so she'd become involved; mainly helping to bring in the injured and assisting the overwhelmed staff. It was there where she'd begun to connect with these people, the same people she'd spent over fifty years protecting and purifying for safe passage into the next world. There were even a few in the group she had grown close to and could rightfully call family.

When the war ended, her surrogate family had returned to Japan and things had gone downhill. It was bad enough that most of the cities had been struggling to rebuild themselves under the watchful eyes of foreign soldiers, but then the Yakuza had gotten involved. She'd known the others were in for trouble when they'd made a deal with the Inagawa gang, and she had tried to convince them not to take out a loan. Her advice was ignored, and when they couldn't come up with the funds to repay the Inagawa when it was time, the Yakuza did the unthinkable—they took someone back with them as collateral.

She should have just shut people out. Humans were always doing something stupid. But Hiyori had found a connection with that young woman—a woman who had wholeheartedly taken Hiyori in as a younger sister—and she couldn't just let it go. So here she was, working in an illegal gambling bar run by the very people who took her family, trying to find a weakness in the group so she could figure out where her friend had gone.

"So that's three beers, two whiskies on the rocks, and two large sake," she repeated the order, less than enthused. This was her first large group of the night and she could already tell that they were going to be trouble. Half of them were already intoxicated, and the others were barely old enough to set foot in the bar. Hiyori glanced down at the armbands the young men proudly wore, a tell-tell sign of which underground gang they belonged to—or at least, the one they were trying to get into.

"Well, doll-face, I could think of a few other things I'd like from you," one of the young men sneered, bringing his face close to hers. She stayed as still as possible, even though the rank smell of cheap whisky and tobacco was making her stomach churn.

Earlier that evening, Hiyori had been lectured about her last encounter with men who had wanted a little more than just a drink or something from the kitchen. Inagawa Kyomushugi, the second-born son to the head of the Inagawa family and the one trusted with maintaining this location, had brought her back to the office without an explanation. His dark green eyes had remained cold and unemotional. With the door wide open so others could see, a backhand had landed sharply on the side of her face. It had barely stung to Hiyori, but the humiliation of having to withstand this type of punishment and do nothing about it was what hurt the most. She had to keep up the illusion that she was loyal and willing to do what it took to stay in this business. If she didn't, she would have no chance of finding her kidnapped friend.

"I'll be right back with your drinks," she spoke lowly, tilting her head away from his rancid breath and ignoring the boy's advances. She turned, eager to get away from the group, when the man reached out and gave her a quick slap on her bottom. She froze, trying her best to resist the urge to shove his stupid tie down his throat or rip it off and strangle his nuts with it. She couldn't afford to lose her temper here, not when she was only one strike away from ever gaining the Inagawa family's trust. Her free hand coiled into a fist so tight she thought the skin would crack on her knuckles. Wishing horrible curses upon the boy to ease her mind, she finally calmed down enough to finish the task at hand.

Soon enough, she was back with their order, skillfully carrying the tray full of drinks with one hand while maneuvering through the dense crowd. The group was laughing and swapping stories by now and wasn't paying too much attention to her—something Hiyori was grateful for. But the distraction didn't last for long. Moments later, the same inebriated youth from before was trying to coax his way into her pants.

"So, doll-face, when do you get off?" he slurred, "Or _how_ do you get off?"

Hiyori didn't answer, doing nothing more than placing the last drink down from her tray.

"Oi, I'm talkin' to ya, bitch!" he suddenly yelled out, grabbing her arm with force and digging his grimy fingers into her bicep. His eyes were glossy but hers were fierce, and they shot him a look of such rage that his face momentarily fell into a defensive state. He quickly shook his head and tried to regain the upper hand.

"You have to do what I say, whore. You're on my turf."

"I'm _not_ a goddamn whore," she spoke firmly and with conviction. "If that's what you're looking for, then go find a pro skirt on the next street corner."

"You can't talk to me like that, woman," the greasy man sneered. He steadied himself in his seat and pointed to the red colored elastic cuffed low around what he would have called a bicep. "You see this armband? It means I'm in with the Inagawa."

Hiyori's ears felt like they were going to start shooting out steam. She knew the rules, and she knew what the armband meant. Only low-level lackeys wore one, and it might as well have been a target to the other gangs that this guy was dispensable. It was just a status symbol to inflate their egos; normally she would put these asshats in their places, but tonight she couldn't afford to lose her temper. Her eyes narrowed, but she lowered her gaze in the end.

"Of course, _Sir_," she said with barely-veiled spite. "I apologize for my rash behavior." She struggled to hide her grimace as the young man brought his face closer to hers.

"Is there a problem here, Miss?" a new male voice piped up, in an annoyingly singsong tone. There was something very familiar about the voice, but she was too relieved to have finally caught a break and too wrapped up in finding a quick way out of this fix to figure out who it was.

"No, I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. She managed to jerk her arm free from the slime-ball who dared to call himself a member of the Inagawa, turning her attention to the man who'd just been stupid enough to interfere with her business.

All of a sudden, she couldn't breathe. Air caught in her lungs, stifling her gasp of surprise into a choke. Her amber eyes went wide with disbelief. Stuttering, she managed to utter a single word.

"Sh-Shinji?"

The blonde man cracked a grin, a row of upper teeth filling his wide smile. "Hey, kitten. How goes it?"

A rush of mixed emotions crossed over her mind, mingled with flashes of memories. It had been nearly twenty years since she had seen Hirako Shinji—twenty long years since he had walked out of her life. It was only a matter of time before she ran into him, but she'd never expected to find him here, on tonight of all nights. The first instinct she had was to smack him over the head, demand where he had been and then proceed to give him a hug so tight he wouldn't be able to breathe. But her second instinct—the one that stopped her from acting on her thoughts—drowned out the first completely by screaming at her for even thinking about Shinji in the first place.

"So what, are you her brother or somethin'?" the drunkard piped up, snapping Hiyori out of her thoughts.

It took a moment to process what the man had said, but it hit her soon enough. She looked at the customer and back at Shinji, narrowing her eyes. Seeing him act as if nothing was wrong made her furious. Her second instinct won over immediately, the bits of nostalgia quickly withering and dying.

"No," she said firmly, her voice turning cold. "He's no one."

She would have stayed to see the look on his face after what she said, but she was afraid if she did, she would have really let her anger take over. Shinji, of all people, was not going to screw this up for her. He sure had some nerve to show up in _her_ town, at _her_ job.

Hiyori wove through the crowd, desperately hoping that she would leave him in the throng, but she could feel him following closely behind her. In a last ditch effort to keep him away, she changed her course to go to the closely guarded back room, where the high rollers and crooked cops indulged. Her senses were rusty, though, and he caught her by the elbow, dragging her away from the entrance and into a neighboring corridor.

"Get your mitts off me, dickhead," she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot from the guards. She yanked her arm away from him and kept as much distance between the two of them as possible, crossing her arms under her chest.

"Now there's the Hiyori I knew," Shinji drawled, giving her a look that he damn well knew made her stomach do flip-flops. She felt his eyes roam over her body and tried to ignore the way it made her feel. Careful to keep her guard up, Hiyori stole a glance at him while he was otherwise distracted.

It wasn't fair—he looked great in a suit. He kept things simple, solid black on black with a thin white tie for stark contrast. His hair was shorter, too, cut a few inches below the shoulder. He kept it in a low ponytail with two long strands in front of his ears. His bangs were still cut stupidly straight, and peeked out from the black fedora he was sporting these days.

"So, how've you been? I mean, except for _not_ kicking those goons in their jewels for grabbing your ass."

"None of your goddamned business," Hiyori frowned, moving to push past him. She didn't want to play games, least of all with him.

Shinji struck an arm out in front of her path, his reach easily touching the other side of the narrow hallway. She stopped in her tracks with a growl, feeling her blood begin to boil.

"You gettin' soft?" he teased.

"Don't make me break your fuckin' nose, Shinji." She didn't want to entice him, but she was already feeling the need to release some of her anger from earlier. Seeing him acting as cocky and smug as ever only made things worse.

"Like you could ever reach that high," he grinned, with an infuriating twinkle in his eye.

That was all it took for Hiyori to take the bait and snap. She thrust the heel of her hand up with a sharp, quick jab and easily connected with his nose. A satisfying crunch reached her ears and, momentarily bringing a smirk to her face.

"You hit like a girl."

Hiyori flashed her fang with a snarl and reeled back for another strike. Her jab was fast, but he was older and infinitely more experienced than her. He easily caught her wrist, right before her fist would have pummeled into his face.

"See? You _are_ gettin' soft." Shinji brought his face down to her level, so close she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke. He smelled of pine and sweet oak from the high-end whisky he had been drinking—why did he have to smell so good?

"You're a prick," she grit with a frown, turning her head away from him.

His thumb moved across the soft skin on her inner wrist and it made her stomach do that stupid butterfly thing again. She was grateful the lights were dim in this hall or else he would have seen the blush that spread across her cheeks.

"So were those thugs at the table, but I didn't see you wailing on them."

The flush on Hiyori's cheeks instantly disappeared. Using their close proximity to his advantage and tricking her into answering questions for his little game was crossing the line.

"You deaf or something?" she hissed. "I said it's none of your fuckin' business."

"I think you used a different swear word the first time you said it."

"Fuck you," Hiyori spat. She pulled on her arm to gain control, but his grip stayed strong.

"I'll let you go if you fess up." Shinji's expression turned more serious, and he relaxed his hold on her wrist.

Nearby, another waitress called out her name. Her sudden disappearance had obviously raised a red flag to her coworkers and customers: she needed to get back out there and do her job. Cursing under her breath, Hiyori tilted her head up to Shinji, her face solid and cold.

"Look _asshole_, I can't have another outburst, okay? I can't afford to lose this job."

The playful luster in Shinji's hazel eyes quickly died down. "Do you need money? I can give you—"

"It's not about the money," she snapped.

"What then?"

"Why the hell do you care?" she replied, her voice icy. His face felt like he'd just been slapped and it gave her some small satisfaction that her words had struck a harsh chord. His fingers released their tension and she jerked her hand away from him, putting as much distance between the two of them as she could.

His insistency was beyond annoying at this point. He had walked out of her life twenty years ago without a word, and suddenly expected to jump right back in? He hadn't even cared enough to try to keep in touch with her or the others. He had just disappeared, taking all of her hope away with him.

"Do me a favor, will ya?" She jutted her chin up sharply and narrowed her large eyes. "Just turn around and walk out of here. That's what you're best at, anyway."

Shinji's brows furrowed and his eyes searched her face for some kind of definitive answer. Hiyori closed her eyes and shook her head in disappointment. If he couldn't figure out what the problem was by now, then he was even more of a moron than she thought he was. When he didn't move, she did, leaving him alone in the dark hallway. But before she could completely depart with some sense of dignity, she heard a name that she could never turn her back on.

"I talked to Kisuke."

Hiyori stopped in her tracks at the name of her former captain and the man who saved her life. After all these years, Urahara Kisuke was one of the few who kept in touch with her, but it had been a while since she had heard any news from him. When things turned south after the Pearl Harbor bombing, she didn't have much time to respond to his letters anymore. And when her family was taken from her, she'd poured all of her time and energy into tracking down the Ingawa.

"He and Yoruichi are back at the shop in Karakura. Can you believe that stupid place held up through the war? Tessai must have put up one hell of a kidou barrier to keep it intact."

Karakura. That sleepy town outside of Tokyo had taken some pretty bad hits from the allied forces. It wasn't newsworthy enough for a headline, but Hiyori had managed to find an article buried in the back section. To be honest, she missed the pace of the town and wouldn't mind going back, but right now she was needed in Yokohama.

"I'll be waiting for you when get off the clock," Shinji's voice was suddenly right next to her. She hadn't even noticed that he'd placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," she dismissed, peering at him from the corners of her eyes. Hiyori took a deep breath and headed back to the obnoxious group, finally leaving Shinji alone in the dark corridor, feeling disappointed and frustrated.

This was going to be a long fuckin' night.

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews make me tingle!

**Author's Notes:**

Second chapter! And hopefully will have weekly uploads...we'll see how it goes. Not much plot development here, but it IS important to see Hiyori's side. Stick in there, things will start getting a helluva more interesting next chapter! :D

THANKS goes to **JasoTheArtisan** and **Jazzpha** for the beta read! Go read their stuff, I COMMAND THEE.

Oh yes, just some quick historical notes... Inagawa is an actual Yakuza gang family, which emerged in the Yokohama area after WWII.  
Also, I use "whisky" which is the preferred spelling amongst scotch drinkers. Both "whisky" and "whiskey" are correct spellings.

Anyone else figure out who Kyomushugi is yet? :D (yes, he is the same Yakuza who pistol-whipped the drunk in the last chapter)


	3. I've got Soul but I'm not a Soldier

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.

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Shinji stepped outside in the back alley and leaned against the brick, pulling a flat metal box out from his suit's inner breast pocket. He opened it and took out one of the long white cigarettes, slipping it between his lips. He let it dangle while he struck a match against the grout between a few bricks and lit the end. He sucked in a drag and held it, rubbing his tired eyes. The smoke flowed out from his mouth slowly and settled in the humid air.

It was getting late and this place barely showed any sign of slowing down. Shinji pulled the sleeve back from his suit jacket to check his new wristwatch for the time.

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning.

A drop of water hit the lit end of his cigarette, the hiss telling him that the flame had gone out. Cursing under his breath, he tore another match out of the small book and struck it against the brick, cupping the damp end of the tobacco roll to keep the flame from extinguishing. His eyes sharpened for a brief moment before he waved his hand to kill the match and tossed it over the end of a dumpster.

"What do ya want, kid?" he said to the metal bin.

Papers crinkled from behind the trashcan and a head popped out from the side.

"You could hear me? I was trying real hard to be quiet," the younger male voice piped up in an overly excited tone. His round eyeglasses reflected the dim alley light, hiding his dark eyes. His black hair slicked back with pomade was equally as noticeable.

"I didn't need to hear ya. I could smell your hair treatment from here," Shinji looked away from the youth and took a drag from his cigarette. "I thought I told you to stop followin' me."

"I can't help it, sir. You're the only one I've seen who can kill those monsters."

The wiry-framed teenager finally stepped out of the shadows and stood with determination in front of the Vizard. He certainly wasn't an intimidating figure; he was only about fourteen or fifteen years old and woefully short— standing only a few inches above five feet in height. Yet something about this kid caught Shinji's attention. He definitely had some spiritual power, but what kind was up for debate.

"Please. Will you teach me how to fight those devils?"

Shinji was already beginning to regret saving this kid's life.

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Ever since the Americans dropped the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the number of hollows in the real world had been steadily increasing. Hundreds of Shinigami had been dispatched to perform soul burials and purify hollows, but the casualties of the human war were far too great for the black-clad spirits to handle. Over the past few years, Shinigami numbers had dropped too, as fresh graduates had been sent out in desperation and killed by making careless, rookie mistakes. Millions of souls walked the earth and it was only a matter of time before their chains eroded and a hollow-hole opened up.

When the hollow attacks began increasing in frequency and the beasts started going after the wandering souls, Shinji couldn't look the other way anymore. He had tried to keep himself hidden, but this one kid got in the way.

The adolescent had been nothing more than another four-eyes on the street, working as a courier for a local bakery. Shinji had just purchased some sweet bread from the shop when the kid ran out with an order, strapped the goods to his bicycle and headed down the road. He waved with a smile towards Shinji, who gave the young man an odd look in response.

Then Hirako noticed he wasn't standing there alone. An older couple that bore similarity to the teenager was next to him, smiling and waving to him as he left. The identical chains attached to a metal plate in their chests clinked when they eagerly waved. The woman turned to Shinji with a warm smile.

"He's a good son, don't you think?"

He swallowed his bite of bread and nodded in response.

"Come along, darling," the man said to his wife. "Let's leave this nice man to his sweets and we'll take a look at the fresh flowers down the street."

"That would be lovely," the woman replied. The youth's parents floated through a neighboring wall and out of Shinji's vision.

All of a sudden, there was a loud boom down the street, gaining attention from all the local shops. Through the dust, that same teen came running as fast as his thin legs could carry him. He was bruised with an irregular claw mark across his neck, his dark eyes shaking and his clothing half-covered in dirt. He took cover under a nearby vendor cart and crouched down with his back against one of the sides. The vendor yelled at him, but the boy didn't seem to hear him. He peeked around the corner of the cart, taking in deep breaths.

The howl reached Shinji's ears like screws scraping against a metal door. It was empty, desperate, and hungry. He saw a clawed hand reach around the side of a building, digging its spiky tips into the structure. Its white, skeletal mask showed itself—a grotesque, long face filled with jagged teeth and several horns adorned around it like a deranged lion. The biped stepped into the street with a sickly purple leg, its huge head searching for something in particular. The young man lost his balance and fell out of view from the cart. The hollow's empty eyes snapped around and spotted him, opening its distorted mouth to scream.

"_Hadou number 33: Soukatsui_."

A burst of blue light spread out from a single point, expanding in size as it instantaneously collided with the center of the white mask. The hollow froze in its place, jaws still open to attack, and its body began to dissipate into the air. The youngster looked up, his dark eyes illuminated from the kidou spell and filled with a sense of wonder. Towering above him stood a narrow face shadowed by the mid-afternoon sun. Shinji's hazel eyes shifted to peer at him, his curiosity slightly peeked as to why a hollow would be chasing down a living human—and in broad daylight no less.

"You okay?" he spoke with a no-nonsense tone.

The teenager hesitantly nodded. "Swell."

Hirako gave him a sharp nod and turned on his heel, holding on to his sweet bread with one arm and shoving the other deep into a pocket. He had gotten halfway down the street when he heard the kid chasing after him.

"Wait! Hold up!"

Shinji let out an irritated grunt and quickened his lazy pace. He was only in this city to track down one person and especially didn't want to make any ties with humans. The young man's rapid footsteps came closer and suddenly Shinji spun around fast enough to make him skid to a halt.

"Do you want to die, kid?" he bent down until his forehead was nearly touching the frightened teen's. He shook his head quickly in response, but his spirit remained strong.

"Then don't follow me."

The Vizard tipped his hat down to cover part of his face and spun to leave. He took a few steps before the youth stopped him yet again.

"I know why that demon was after me."

"Oh?" A dark blonde brow rose but Shinji kept his back turned to the boy.

"I've seen those monsters with the masks before," the youth said, his eyebrows narrowing. "They eat the ghosts that walk this town."

The corner of Hirako's mouth twitched. His tone grew serious but calm as he tilted his head slightly back to speak. "What makes you think they are after you?"

"I don't want it to take my parents. I've been…researching about casting out evil spirits, even tried a few spells myself. Now I think they're angry with me."

"Heh, those ain't no evil spirits, kid. Well, at least not all of them are."

"Then what are they?"

"They're none of your concern."

The adolescent coiled a fist at his side. "With all due respect, _Sir_, anything that is trying to kill my family _is_ my concern, especially when they are just trying to find a path to the afterlife."

His chest was heaving, both from the sprint and his determination. His dark eyes were scared but his fierceness shone through the glare of his glasses. "Please teach me how to fight those demons!" he burst out.

Shinji had to hand it to the kid, he certainly did have the drive to learn, but teaching someone the Demon Arts wasn't exactly like giving someone swimming lessons. There was a lot about this world that he couldn't understand, even if it was all explained to him. Hell, Hirako didn't even fully understand the way the world worked in all his centuries of living with the dead. All he knew was that fate was a cruel bitch.

"Sorry, kid. It's just not that easy."

The youth's face fell briefly before scrunching up, driven by frustration and anger. "I know I don't look like much, but I'm strong! I know I can fight!"

"I'm sure you can," Shinji shifted his weight to partially face him, "but like I said, it ain't that easy. There's a lot I can't explain and a lot you won't understand."

"But I—"

"Don't follow me. I mean it."

The Vizard continued on his path, but he knew the teenager was trailing after him. The boy kept his distance and never strayed less than a block away. When Shinji found the gambling bar where Hiyori was working that night, he knew the bouncers would never let someone his age into the building and figured that would be the chance to lose him. But the damn kid was persistent and waited patiently outside in the dangerous Yakuza territory. He had even managed to keep an eye on which door Shinji walked out of, which happened to be this back alley in the middle of the night.

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"Please. Will you teach me how to fight them?"

Hirako rubbed the back of his neck and let out an annoyed grunt. He shifted his hazel eyes to look at the youth from the slit corners, taking a deep drag off the lit cigarette before crushing the remaining butt into the brick wall next to him. Smoke curled around Shinji's lips as he finally turned to fully face the young man.

"Go home, kid."

"I don't really have a home to go back to." The teen lowered his face slightly and his brows knitted together.

Shinji make a clucking sound with his tongue against his exposed upper teeth. "Yeah well, you ain't staying with me."

"I'm not asking to, sir. I just want to learn. I _need_ to learn how to fight those…whatever those demons are."

"Hollows," the Vizard corrected, rolling his eyes. He was going to regret telling this kid the real names behind the spirits of this world, but someone had to set his record straight. "They're not demons. They're called 'hollows.'"

"Hollows? Why that word?"

"Hell if I know," he shrugged. "Maybe because they are lost spirits and their souls became empty. Maybe it's because of the hole that forms in all of them where their hearts used to be. All I know is that the balance must be kept and these days it's fucked. There ain't nothing you can do about it."

"I have to try," the adolescent's fists balled at his side.

"Then you'll only die faster."

The young man frowned. "Do you always have to see things so negatively?"

Hirako raised a dark brown eyebrow and his lips lowered into a half scowl. "It's not negative. It's the truth."

"That may be your way of thinking, but I'd like to believe that there is something better than this. There has to be."

"Prepare to be severely disappointed," Shinji murmured, turning his back to the kid. He began to walk back to the door, striking a match along the way to light a fresh cigarette. What the hell was taking Hiyori so long? Thanks to her, he had to waste his time arguing with an all-too-optimistic brat.

"I'm not going to give up. I know I can't learn how to fight these hollows on my own and in all my life you're the only one I've seen who can fight them."

Shinji made a noise halfway between a growl and an exasperated sigh. Taking his time, he sucked in a plume of smoke from his cigarette and let it out through his nostrils. This guy was damn persistent.

"I'll make you a deal," he began, then spun on his heels to face the teenager. "If you can catch me, I'll agree to train you."

"What?" the young man crinkled his face in confusion.

"You heard me."

"Seriously?" the teen questioned again. "As simple as that?"

"_If_ you can catch me."

"Okay then," the youth grinned and prepared himself to start running. "I'm ready."

The kid didn't even have a chance to blink before Shinji had completely disappeared from the alley. His dark eyes went wide and he snapped around to look for the missing stranger, but he was nowhere to be found. The teen's head fell in deep disappointment and he struck his foot out against one of the metal bins.

"Ah, dammit."

From the rooftop above, Shinji watched as the young man sat down the in dark alley on this bad side of town and waited for him to return. He knew it was a low blow to use shunpo against the kid, but there was no other way to get him off his back. He brought the rolled tobacco to his lips, but in his flash-step, the flame had extinguished. Lightly cursing, he struck another match to re-light the cigarette. As soon as it touched the tip of the roll, the flame on the match blew out.

"What are you…what are you doing on my roof?" a distorted human voice asked.

Shinji glanced to his left to see a decaying spirit emerge from the shadows. The man was older and his pale skin was withered with age at the time he had died. Rusting chains wrapped around his body, tying itself to the ledge of this roof.

"Get off!" he cried, his tone desperate and enraged. He pulled against the chains and the one attached to the plate in the center of his chest revealed a hollow hole on the brink of completion.

"Get out of here!" the spirit shouted and pulled harder towards Hirako.

Then suddenly there was a blinding light and a deafening scream. The teenager's head shot up to the rooftop at the moment he heard the demi-hollow's cry as it transformed into one of the fallen. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

"You!" the boy pointed up at Shinji. "How did you get up there so fast?"

"Never mind that, kid. There's a bigger problem now."

"What happened?" he projected his voice up to the rooftop. "I felt kinda sick and then I heard that awful scream."

"Just stay there, boy," Shinji said firmly. "Take cover. Now."

The night air was still for a moment before the clouds above him began to swirl. Empty space began to distort as spirit particles began to gather and form into the hollow's new shape. Two hind legs began to form first and perched on the chimney top. A wide, flat tail came next, followed by a long torso and wings that folded into arms; complete with claws that dug into the brick ledge between its feet. The old man's head formed next, his eyes devoid of any sign of life. Then the final step came: a mask sprouted out from the spirit's eyes and mouth like it was being splashed with thick white paint. It molded into a diamond-shaped face with small, sharp ears at the very top and red markings outlined the holes that formed over its glowing eyes. The markings continued to paint the hollow's mask in spirals until they joined at the tip of its short, pointy nose.

"Ooough," the newborn hollow grunted. Its chest shuddered with pain.

"I'm…hungry… So…very…hungry…

"Must…eat…

"Must…devour…

"Devour…"

The hollow's face snapped down to the alley below, immediately finding the young man. Its jaws opened widely and the creature launched itself off the chimney. Bat-like wings flapped wind all around the area, picking up random debris and trash. It was moving so fast the teenager didn't have much time to move. All he could do was watch helplessly as the monster closed in.

Suddenly a figure appeared between the youth and the hollow, wearing a short black dress and held an unsheathed sword with a red handle against the monster, keeping its open mouth pried open. With one solid motion, the hollow was pushed back by several feet, its mask chipping from the force of the blade. The blonde girl with pigtails coiled into buns took a quick glance over her shoulder before heading after the beast, but it spun and its tail smacked into her stomach, flicking her off to the side and making her body slam into the side of the building.

"Hiyori!" the teen heard the man who fought demons cry out.

'_I can't do anything,'_ the boy thought with fearing disappointment. '_I want to help. I want to protect.'_

With those thoughts, the young man felt an energy course through him, concentrating on his hands. The blue light began to glow with intensity, expanding as his thoughts became more frantic to defeat this monster. It felt like flames across his hands but he endured the pain, biting back cries of pain as involuntary sweat beaded on his forehead. Fueled by instinct, he positioned his arms straight out from his body with his right hand held flat as if it was pointing and the left clasped around a section of the burning blue energy.

"Hey!" he shouted to the hollow. The creature turned to face its original target, taking steps toward him on its hind legs.

"Leave. Them. Alone."

The adolescent's dark eyes flashed with determination behind his round glasses. He pulled back the hand that held a piece of his spiritual energy all the way to the side of his face, ready to fire. He aimed carefully as the monster bounded towards him. The hollow's jaws opened to devour his soul and he released the line of blue-white light like an arrow shooting from his bare hands. It struck a clean slash through the beast's mask.

As the hollow dissipated, the teenager took in heavy breaths and fell to his knees with his back leaning against a brick wall. He slumped over, struggling to keep conscious. In quick steps, Shinji was at his side, keeping him steady with one arm pressed against his shoulder.

"Nice work, kid," the Vizard couldn't help but crack a small grin.

"Th-Thanks," he tiredly replied.

"What's your name?"

"Ishida," he breathed. "Ishida Souken." Then his eyes closed and his body fell limp into a deep sleep.

"Ah, shit," Shinji lightly cursed when Souken collapsed against him. Hiyori moved behind him, her dress dirty from the plaster of the wall but otherwise unharmed. Her amber eyes grew wide with wonder and surprise.

"How the hell did you find him?" she asked with an uncommon tone of genuine interest.

"I didn't. He found me."

The young Vizard crouched down and studied the young man's face with curiosity. A glint of silver around his thin wrist caught her eye and she pried open his tightly closed fist. In the palm of his hand—pressed so hard that it left a red mark—lay a pentacle composed of five thin rods of metal and a small circle in the center.

"I don't believe it," Hiyori said under her breath.

"What are you babbling about?" Shinji furrowed his brows.

"This, Ishida Souken," she turned over the pentacle a few times and looked up at Shinji with a sense of discovery.

"He's the Last Quincy."

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews are like pie, mmmMMMmmm...

**Author's Notes:**

Second chapter! And hopefully will have weekly uploads...we'll see how it goes. Not much plot development here, but it IS important to see Hiyori's side. Stick in there, things will start getting a helluva more interesting next chapter! :D

THANKS goes to **JasoTheArtisan** and **Jazzpha** for the beta read! Go read their stuff, I COMMAND THEE.

_"All These Things That I've Done" - The Killers_


	4. Paint it Black

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.

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Inagawa Kyomushugi sat at his large walnut desk, going over tonight's expense reports and invoices. Although this was usually an accountant's job, the second-born son to the head of the Inagawa family insisted on taking the final counts of the night. Kyomushugi would lock two deadbolts on the heavy door to his office in the back and place his two most ruthless bodyguards on watch immediately outside. It was only natural that he was not a trusting man, after all, this was not lawful business and people had been desperate for quick cash flow since the war ended.

Tonight was not so different than the last few months, except for the new hire, Sarugaki. The only reason she had not been put out on the street was that her attitude, although disrespectful to many, brought in the curiosity of the crowd. Her foreign looks and fluency in Japanese was a puzzle to many, including his staff. Rumors traveled quickly in this part of city, and speculation about a seemingly European or American girl now living and working in Japan after the war was certainly a site to see. Since she had begun waiting tables, there was a notable spike in profit; so she would stay, but only on the condition that she did her job without resorting to her typical behavior. Tonight she had controlled her usual outbursts, save a short conversation one of the other staff members overheard. Nevertheless, he kept a watchful eye on this colorful character and had assigned a lower member to stay on observation across from her apartment.

From outside, he could hear a local police officer trying to argue his way out of paying his debt, but the others quickly shut him up. Chatter filled the room directly outside of his office, and Kyomushugi kept an ear open to the conversation as he worked. Most of the success of this small gambling bar was attributed to the fact that he ran a very strict house. Not a single breath was taken in this establishment without him knowing about it, and tonight's arrival of another person who didn't appear to be from this country had not gone unnoticed. Within a few days, Kyomushugi would find out every step that blonde man had taken since he entered Japan.

Kyomushugi continued his paperwork when suddenly, his pen stopped moving and his ears perked up. It was a whispered hush, but he heard the sound nevertheless. His movements were calm as his pale hands put down the pen he was holding. Then, he quickly and silently pulled out a German gun from the suit jacket around his chair and pointed it to a dark corner of his office, fingers ready to pull the trigger.

"Show yourself," he coolly commanded.

"I heard you were good," a Kyoto accent immediately responded. The voice was in an unusually chipper tone.

"How did you get in here?" Kyomushugi's lips twitched into a frown.

"Magic," the devious voice smiled.

"I don't believe in sorcery." The Yakuza prince pulled back the hammer on his gun with a click. His hand was steady and would take no chances.

"Relax, Inagawa-san," the male stranger reassured. "If I was here to kill ya, you'd be dead by now."

"Is that a threat?"

"Not at all," the voice cheerfully said. "It's the truth."

From the shadows stepped a shiny black shoe, leading up to a nicely tailored charcoal gray suit that sat on the man's trim frame. He was very thin and tall, easily reaching up to six foot in height, and kept his hat down low to cover most of his face. Although he only appeared to be in his late teens to early twenties, his head was adorned with silver hair. Under the brim of his fedora, a wide, flat grin greeted the Yakuza.

Kyomushugi uncocked his Walther P38 and withdrew his hold on the man, ever so slightly narrowing his large juniper colored eyes. "So, it's you," he acknowledged.

"You were expecting me?" the well-dressed stranger lifted his face to the young Inagawa, revealing his face. He had strikingly narrow features, high cheekbones and wide, slanted eyes that never seemed to open, further proof that this man was certainly the one Kyomushugi had been told about.

"We may have rivalries within the underground world, but we do respect the code we follow between gangs. And when a man who looks the way you do has been seeking out several Yakuza families, word travels fast."

"So I gather you know what I'm here for," the thin man said with a sly tone, his grin widening.

"I'd rather hear it from the source than believe rumors," Kyomushugi corrected. He sat down in his red leather chair and poured a drink for the stranger as indication that this meeting was officially starting. He offered a hand out, palm up, and gestured to a seat across from his desk.

The silver-haired man politely accepted the Inagawa prince's hospitality, plucking the glass up with long fingers and carefully taking a seat. "I see you're everything I've heard so far," he commented. "Good."

"And so far, you live up to your codename…_Inari_," Kyomushugi countered.

The man known to the Yakuza world only as 'Inari' gave the Yakuza prince a shallow nod of agreement. It was only fitting that he went by the name of the Japanese God of Foxes, given his appearance and cunning nature. White foxes were messengers, and this silver-haired man performed his duty here to the fullest. But, to the rest of existence and the Gotei Thirteen, he was known was Ichimaru Gin, Lieutenant of the Fifth Division under Captain Aizen Sousuke.

"I'm flattered, Inagawa-san," Gin grinned. "And I'm sure you understand my discretion for keeping identities safe."

"Of course," Kyomushugi plainly stated.

Gin took a sip from the shallow glass and absentmindedly drummed his fingers across the rim. "Now that we understand each other," he paused to show emphasis, "my proposition can begin."

"One question, Inari-san," the young Inagawa started, "Why did you not approach my brother with this project? It's only logical as he was first-born, not I. If this project is as important as it is rumored to be, why not choose a higher ranked member?"

"With all due respect," Gin gave him a slow nod, "the details of this project require more strategic planning. Your brother, although higher in rank, solves all of his problems by the barrel of a gun or the edge of a sword. For this task, my master requested brains, not brawn.

"If you believe that you are the man for this job, then the rewards," he tossed a pouch stacked full of bills onto the table, "will be great."

Kyomushugi eyed the pile of money and shifted his stoic gaze back to the fox-faced man. "You have my attention."

Gin smirked, his closed eyes slanting further as his expression became more pleased. "Excellent."

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Shinji slid the unconscious Quincy off his shoulders and rolled him onto a flat mattress Hiyori had set up in a corner of her tiny apartment. The boy groaned and crinkled his face, but soon relaxed into a peaceful sleep as the comfort of the covers and the pillow beneath his pounding head lulled him into submission.

"Ishida, huh," Shinji clucked his tongue. "That name sure brings back some memories. I didn't take much part in the Quincy War, but I do remember that clan now that I think about it. They were the strongest and most vengeful of the lot."

"Yeah, well, I'm surprised any Quincy are left after what happened," Hiyori commented and she thumbed over the pentacle Souken had been clutching as if his life depended on it.

"Can't expect much to be left after the genocide," Hirako shrugged.

Hiyori's brows knitted together and her honey-brown eyes turned hazy as her thoughts drifted. She took one last look at the pentacle before unhooking the clasp and wrapping the necklace back around the sleeping teenager's wrist. She remained kneeling for a short while until her fists tightened with building frustration.

"That's not all that happened." Her voice was uncommonly serious and quiet.

"Oh?" Shinji titled a curious head.

The young Vizard stood and walked over to the open window overlooking a narrow balcony. She thinned her lips as she thought back to her days in the Twelfth Division. "Do you know why Mayuri was in the Maggot's Nest?"

"That was confidential," Hirako defended. "Only the Captain-Commander and a choice few had access to that knowledge."

"Urahara was one of those few," Hiyori confirmed. Her eyes slid into a memory again as she continued speaking. "To this day, I don't know if he had meant for me to find what I did, or if it was an accident. But when we were in Karakura, I uncovered the records on what put Mayuri so deep into the Maggot's Nest.

"What I found was…" she drifted off and closed her eyes tightly, trying to get rid of the images flowing through her head. When she opened them, she turned her gaze to Souken.

"Mayuri was there, during the Quincy War. But he didn't just kill. Somehow he captured hundreds, no, thousands of Quincy and then…" she swallowed the rising bile in her throat.

"They don't have a word for what that bastard did to those people."

It was rare for Hiyori to take an interest or have a sense of compassion for an enemy, so for her to react this strongly was a jarring sight. War had never bothered her before, but that was back when they hadn't lived in the human world. Things in Soul Society were much simpler: purify hollows and send souls down the proper path. It seemed that time spent here in the corporeal world and away from her fellow exiles had changed her basic attitude regarding life. Part of Shinji was pleased to see her take a more mature approach, but the other part concluded that growing soft spot was what put her in this dangerous situation in the first place.

Shinji frowned and shook his head. "Ya know, I never really did like that man. No matter what Kisuke said about people being able to change their true nature."

"Mayuri isn't a man. He's a monster."

"I'm sure he could say the same about us now," he rebutted.

Sarugaki's eyes narrowed. "I'm more human than he'll ever be."

"But you're not human anymore, Hiyori. And neither am I. Did you forget about that?"

"God-fucking-dammit, Shinji!" Hiyori suddenly shouted. The young woman grew furious, her loose pigtails trembling with built-up frustration. "You can't just leave shit alone, can you?"

"What are you talking about?" the older Vizard tiredly questioned.

"I _know_ you, Shinji," she glared. "I know that all of your questions lead to whatever answer you _really_ want to find out."

"Then why don't you just answer the damn questions in the first place?" Shinji began to raise his voice.

"I told you before, it's none of your fucking business!"

"Bullshit," Hirako growled. "You're working in a bar owned by the Yakuza for God's sake! Did you even figure out that they've been following you this whole time?"

"Of _course_ I did," Hiyori sneered. "I'm not a fucking moron. Did you think I would even _let_ them follow me if I didn't have a reason for it?"

"For the life of me, I can't figure out why you would do that in first place."

"You wouldn't, would you," she spat. "You don't stick around long enough to figure anything out."

"Would you cut the hostility shit for one second, Hiyori? You owe me at least that."

Shinji could feel his teeth grinding. This was not the time to play the fighting game that Hiyori was so fond of, not when it came to dealing with the violent world of the Yakuza. Years had passed, but he had never tested how long she would hold him responsible for all that had happened.

"You LEFT us, Shinji!" the scream tore from her lips. Hiyori's eyes flashed black and gold for a split second, indicative of her hollow powers trying to seep out through her emotions. Her face was red from all the anger she had built up over the past twenty years.

"You left me," she frowned, trying to hide the hurt that was bubbling to the surface.

"I don't owe you _anything_."

Tears pricked the corners of her large eyes but did not dare to fall. She turned up her round nose at Shinji, puffing out her chest to stand tall against the man who left her alone and confused, without even a hint as to where he had gone.

"Get out. Or else my hollow is going to finish what it started thirty years ago."

Shinji's lips turned down into a hard scowl. His hazel eyes looked genuinely hurt for a brief moment until he pulled himself together.

"I'm gone."

He quickly stormed out of her apartment, slamming the door on his way. The loud bang made Hiyori jump with a shudder. She knew he would be back, especially after the discovery of the Quincy boy, but for the moment she wanted nothing more than to have him out. Her skin was crawling with anger, confusion and frustration. Instinctively, she dashed out onto the metal balcony, eyes already changing into their hollow form. She tried to fight it, but the demon that dwelt within her soul knew her better than that. In a blink, she donned her horned mask with red diamonds across its forehead and willed her sword to fly into an open hand. Soon she was leaping from building to building with ease. Right now the only thing that could calm Hiyori's conflicting emotions was a good slaughter.

Shinji watched her from the roof of the complex with lingering eyes, and then returned to her apartment when he was sure that she was gone. He murmured a quiet protection spell, casting a kidou barrier around the resting Quincy. Letting out a deep sigh, he sat on the wood floor and leaned his wiry body against a solid wall. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a flash of lightening lit up the tiny one bedroom.

Her last threat had cut deeper than he thought it would, considering the time that had passed. He closed his eyes to try and get some rest, but all that ran through his mind was what happened on that fateful night so long ago.

There would be no sleep tonight. Only memories in the rain.

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews sparkle, but not like gay vampires. XD

**Author's Notes:**

Aaugh, sorry for uploading it late! I was out of town for work so just got around to getting it beta'd. Anyway, I hope this chapter was satisfying enough to make things more complicated :P

THANKS goes to **Jazzpha** for the beta read!

_'Paint it Black' - The Rolling Stones_


	5. Turn Back the Pendulum Once More

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.

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_Karakura, 1917._

"I'm concerned, Hirako-san. It has been nearly one hour since Sarugaki-san was contained in the barrier," Otoribashi Rose expressed with a sullen look. The effeminate former Captain of the Third Division tilted his long face towards his comrade, his grey-violet eyes hooded as a strand of wavy golden hair fell in front of his gaze.

"Yeah, Rose," Shinji snorted. "You don't have to keep reminding me, ya know."

"I apologize, Hirako-san, I was merely expressing my concerns."

The recently formed Vizard tiredly looked up at the fellow hybrid with slightly apologetic eyes for snapping at him, but his face quickly turned into a mix of hurt and regret.

"Che," Shinji scoffed, "Why did Kisuke make her the final one to heal? Out of the group, I was the last one infected."

"True, but the Hollowfication process was further along with you," Urahara piped up behind Shinji. His singsong voice dropped into a lower, more serious tone, "Plus, I know my Lieutenant. She's stronger than she looks."

"I guess," Hirako shrugged, "but don't you think it's taking a little too long?"

"The inner hollow varies from person to person. To overcome the hollow, you must fight against your most primitive instincts and emotions, and overcome them. With Hiyori, who was ruled by her emotions, it is probably more difficult. But not to worry, I have faith in her," Urahara said with a small smile.

Shinji knitted his brows together, torn between wanting to help and being completely worn down from his recent transformation back into Shinigami form. His inner hollow's reiatsu swirled within him like a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach, but the desire to assist the hot-headed, completely irritating brat tugged at his conscious. Life just wouldn't seem as colorful without her annoying voice ringing in his ear. With a deep breath, Hirako straightened his posture, withdrew his sword and stepped towards the prism barrier.

"What are you doing, Hirako-san?" Rose's tone was mixed between curiosity and concern.

"I'm going to end this," he responded flatly.

The tall, lanky Shinigami-Hollow hybrid approached the exhausted ex-Kidou Corps Captain, Tsukabishi Tessai, who had been working diligently for hours to hold up the barriers that contained the Shinigami as they battled in their spirit world against their own hollows. Beads of sweat collected across his forehead, his bushy eyebrows furrowed thick with concentration. Two battling figures could be seen inside the large translucent box in front of him. Shinji stood next to the kneeling kidou master with his eyes concentrated on the smaller form inside the red barrier.

"Tessai, give Yoruichi a break. I'm going in."

"Hirako-san," the large man warned, his voice noticeably strained. "That is quite impossible. In your condition, you shouldn't be—"

"And in _your_ condition, you've got no right to argue," the blonde Vizard interrupted. "I'm going in, Tessai. Don't make me repeat myself."

The mustached man frowned, keeping his thoughts to himself and the barrier intact. Kisuke approached his old friend and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Let him in."

"But, Urahara—"

"Trust me," the exiled Shinigami kept his green-grey eyes locked on his Lieutenant's hollow form inside the tall rectangular prism. "Just let him in."

With a disapproving grunt, Tessai murmured a high-level kidou spell, bringing his hands together in a clap and slamming them palm-down into the ground. The barrier dropped on one side for a split-second and the purple-haired Shihouin Yoruichi found herself standing outside the glowing red walls.

"Kisuke, what the hell?!" she screamed over her mocha shoulder, her golden eyes piercing with annoyance that her fight had been interrupted.

"You've had enough fun for one night," Shinji calmly spoke and he walked past her and placed a hand up towards the prism. "Give someone else a chance."

He flashed a quick grin to the former Special Forces Ops commander before Tessai lifted a door in the barrier and he stepped in to face his familiar, yet unfamiliar, opponent.

Immediately inside, Shinji wasn't prepared to see the young Shinigami in her tormented form. A snarl reached his ears and a ripping sound echoed as the creature used its own version of shunpo to quickly move across the wide space. Before he could even blink, he was forced to dodge the blade of Hiyori's thin katana coming down on his head. As he shifted his weight, her sword cut off a few tips of his long hair.

"Dammit Hiyori," he scolded as he brought his own sword up to defend against her attacks, "Why'd you have to go and do a thing like that? You know how long I've been growing my hair out?"

The creature's only response was to keep slashing Hiyori's sword again and again, aiming for vital organs with every movement. The white bone mask stared at him with empty eyes, a prominent horn centered on its forehead and a row of diamond-shaped red markings spread across its eyebrows. The formation extended over its shoulders and clamped around its arms, then covered its hands like gloves. Its fingers had been fused together so instead of having five digits, there were now three with needle-sharp claws curled around the tips. Platinum blonde hair had grown into spikes around the back of its mask, almost mimicking a lizard's frill. It seemed as if its vertebrae had burst through the skin and formed a row of diamond thorns that extended past its body into a deadly pointed tail. Its steps were awkward now that it had the hind legs of a powerful large bird.

A transformation hadn't taken this long before and from the others' accounts, no one in the group had deteriorated this far into the shape of hollow. It was disturbing to see someone Shinji could have called a friend become this monster. If he hadn't known that it was Hiyori under that creature, he wouldn't have thought twice about striking it down. It was a core-shocking reminder that hollows weren't just mindless beings—they were once humans too.

"Shit, look at you," Hirako baited the creature on, "No wonder why I never called you my first love."

The hollow seemed to respond to his teasing, its chest puffed up and its empty eyes began to glow red. It let out a shriek and opened its jaws, collecting spirit particles around it into a rotating sphere of crimson light. Shinji's eyes widened as the _cero_ came barreling towards him in a straight shot. He mustered up strength to flash-step away, but the flame caught the edge of his _shihakusho__._

The singe of burnt cloth left a small trail of smoke as Shinji parried, dodged and carefully planned a counterattack. The hollow reacted to teasing and provoking, the same as Hiyori, and its movements became more enraged and concentrated as his words and actions escalated. In that moment, he found an opening and chanted,

"_Bakudou number 61: Rikujoukourou._"

Six flat golden rods immediately materialized, slamming into the hollow's midsection in a six-pointed star formation. The monster let out its scream as soon as it realized it was pinned in place. Shinji cautiously approached the beast, keeping his guard up.

"I don't want to hurt you, Hiyori," he said sincerely. Then with a smirk he added, "Well, not all the time at least.

"I'm sorry about this." He flash-stepped closer, the grip of his sword ready to deal a blow that would render her unconscious. Just when he brought the handle down, he involuntarily froze, his hand still in the air. He glanced down to left shoulder with his eyes shaking.

Hiyori's sword had cut through him as if he was made of butter, piercing his body from front to back. Half of the air left his body in the sudden realization that one of his lungs had been punctured. The hollow tilted its skeletal reptilian head at him and pulled Hiyori's zanpakutou out of his body, leaving a trail of thick blood in its wake. The creature stood there, not making a single sound, as the flat rods of light dissipated in a whirlwind of dark reiatsu.

Shinji felt his knees buckle and he fell to ground, instinctively pressing on the gaping wound in his chest to slow the bleeding. He struggled to breathe and his strength was rapidly depleting. A raptor bird foot stepped into his line of sight on the ground in front of him. He managed to lift his head high enough to see the hollow looking down at him. Its eyes flashed from black and gold to the bright amber of Hiyori's eyes for a split-second, but that was all that he needed to see to give her that extra push.

"God-dammit," he heavily breathed. "Are you gonna let a fucking _Hollow_ win?"

A hand of talons reached out and came to rest directly in front of his face. Red light swirled as a _cero_ formed in the center of its claws.

'_Hiyori,'_ Shinji thought as defiantly as he could, '_I know you can beat this.' _

"Kisuke, let me in," Yoruichi commanded from the outside of the barrier.

"Give it time," Urahara replied.

"She's going to kill him!"

"Give. It. Time," he reiterated with force. "Just a few more seconds, that's all I ask."

The Flash Goddess would have protested further, but the expression in Urahara's eyes was enough to hold her back. The former Captain's green-grey orbs were steadily concentrating on Hiyori's hollow form inside the barrier. Concern was strewn across his face, but he would not give up hope on his former Lieutenant.

The _cero_ was glowing brighter as it accumulated more power, but it was flickering in and out of existence.

'_Hiyori,'_ Shinji's breaths were ragged. '_Don't.'_

The red sphere in the hollow's hand flickered once more, then suddenly the arm aimed in a different direction and shot the _cero_ into the kidou barrier. The creature reached up and grabbed its own mask by the lower jaw, pulling on the edge with all its might. Bone split and cracks began to spread across the rest of the head, and small pieces began to fall. In a growing fury, Hiyori's human voice could be heard underneath the deteriorating hollow form. With one final burst of strength, her hand broke free of the wrapped claws and ripped the rest of the mask off. Piece by piece, the rest of the formation cracked and fell to the ground, immediately turning into dust on impact.

Hiyori sank to her knees as the exhaustion from the battle with her inner demon took its toll. She couldn't help but fall forward and Shinji caught her against his chest. Her amber eyes were hazy and fluttered to stay open.

"Oh fuck," she murmured, turning her head so it rested against Shinji's shoulder. "Did I do that?"

She reached up with a hand and pressed against his open wound to apply pressure. Shinji winced at the pain but managed to wiggle his hand around, interlacing his red-soaked fingers with hers.

"It's just a flesh wound," he heavily breathed. "I'll survive."

"I was all alone," Hiyori quietly admitted, biting her bottom lip. "But then I heard your voice in the dark." She wrapped her free arm around his back, pulling him in tightly. He returned her embrace and cradled her small body by her waist.

"I don't like being alone," she whispered. Her voice was shaky, on the verge of tears.

"You're not," Shinji replied. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

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* * *

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_Yokohama, 1949._

Shinji's chest still hurt thinking about it and his breath left his lungs like it did those thirty years ago.

It had taken weeks for him to recover from the collapsed lung. Only through a combination of kidou performed by Tessai and his ex-Kidou Corps Lieutenant—and fellow Vizard—Ushouda Hachi, had he been able to completely regain use of the damaged organ. Hiyori never admitted it, but he knew she held herself responsible for cutting him down not once, but twice, in her hollow form. She had insistently stayed by his side during that time, even if the majority of the time he did something that pissed her off. He'd say something, who knows what, she'd smack him over the head and then he'd stupidly grin as if he enjoyed it, only because he secretly _did_ enjoy their bickering.

Things in Karakura had been…less complicated. And then he broke his most important promise—intentionally, mistakenly and regretfully. But it was him who had been left alone in the dark for the past twenty years, not her.

"Oi," he heard Hiyori's stern voice and felt her foot grind into his side. "I thought I told you to get out."

"I did," he opened one eye and looked up at her. "And then I came back. Feeling better now?"

"Not really," she said flatly. "And I didn't say you could come back."

"Well, someone had to watch out for the kid," Shinji shrugged and rubbed an eye.

"I'm not a kid, I'm fifteen," an irritated male voice spoke up. "Would you quit calling me that?"

Ishida Souken, the Last Quincy, was finally awake—just in time for the rising sun to peek up over the skyline. The two Vizards shifted their attention short teenager when he smacked his head on the kidou barrier when he tried to stand up.

"Ouch!" Souken frowned and rubbed the sore spot on his head. "What the heck…?" he pressed his hands against the golden dome that kept him safe.

Shinji lowly snickered and then released the kidou spell with the wave of a hand.

"What was that thing? And why was I trapped in it? Are you people sorcerers or something?" Souken was speaking a mile a minute. His onyx eyes were darting from the thin man to the young woman, trying to piece together the puzzle he woke up to.

"How 'bout I start with introductions and we'll go from there?" Shinji raised a brow. With some hesitation, the youth nodded in agreement.

"I'm Hirako Shinji. And this," he thumbed towards Hiyori with a smirk, "angry bitch is Sarugaki Hiyori." He ducked a shoe that came flying towards his head.

Souken was taken aback by the two stranger's attitudes towards each other, but he didn't question it at this time. Right now he had much more pressing things to ask than that. His world had quite literally been turned around in the span of day, and it was almost too much to take. He could feel this warm energy coursing through his veins and wanted to know more.

"Ishida Souken," he introduced himself. "But, I think I told you that last night."

"Do you remember what happened?" Shinji questioned.

"To be honest," Souken scratched his head, "it's kind of a blur…but it's not at the same time? It was like a dream that was so vivid you can't ever forget, but a memory you're not quite sure is real. Am I making any sense?"

"No," Hiyori snorted, crossing her arms under her chest.

"But I get what you mean," Shinji interjected. He shot Hiyori a look out of the corner of his eyes that said, 'Careful around the kid.' She rolled her eyes in response and turned her face away from him.

"So…" the Quincy boy paused and pushed his round-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What now? I don't even know what a 'Quincy' is or what it means."

Hiyori frowned and spoke up, "You mean, you've never even heard that name before?"

"No…" Souken slowly responded.

"Not even overhearing it? What about family history? I mean, your parents have to have records of it somewhere."

"They never mentioned it."

"But there can't just be nothing out there," she insisted. "You have the pentacle for a reason, unless you stole it."

"Hiyori," Shinji's voice warned her not to press.

"I didn't steal it," Souken hardened his eyes at the accusation. "It's my father's."

"So why don't you ask him about it?"

"I can't," he said flatly. "He's dead."

"Oh." Hiyori shut her mouth quickly and lowered her eyes in shame. "Sorry," she mumbled an apology.

"I found them, my parents," the young Ishida continued with strength in his dark eyes. "At least I got to say goodbye. And when I _do_ see them, asking about the pendant passed down by my father's father isn't exactly the first thing on my mind."

"Huh?" the freckles on Hiyori's face crinkled as she made a face.

"I still see them from time to time as they wait for safe passage to the next world," Souken explained with an air of pride.

"You can see spirits?" Hiyori's scientific curiosity was peaked.

"Hollows, too," Shinji added. "That's how I met him. A hollow sniffed him out in broad daylight."

"A daylight attack on a living human?" the young Vizard's brows furrowed in thought. "There hasn't been a case like that in decades."

"Wait, wait. Case? _Decades?_" Souken was rightfully confused. "What the devil is going on here? What_ are_ you guys?"

Shinji cracked a grin, exposing his upper teeth in a fiendish smile.

"Good question. And to answer that, you'll need crash course in history of a world you only _think_ you know."

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews make me happy, and happiness leads to cake.

**Author's Notes:**

The boys have been busy, so **MatsuMama** graciously beta read this for me :D now go read her fic_ Gemini_

I hope you liked this chapter as much as I liked writing it - definitely the favorite so far. :-P  
Just to clear up any time line questions...30 years ago falls into the Pendulum Arc, and 20 years ago was when things between Hiyori & Shinji turned south. Hope that helps keep things in perspective :)


	6. Path

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.

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* * *

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_The Inagawa Family House, an undisclosed location in Yokohama._

Kyomushugi barely slept that night. All Inari had told him just seemed too unbelievable, too grand for something that truly existed. A lot of it was stemmed from folklore and mythology, so of course there would be doubts, but so much of what the silver-haired man told him stuck in his mind that he couldn't just dismiss the tales. When he decided he wouldn't be able to sleep at all, Kyomushugi dug up his grandfather's books from his personal library collection and spent the rest of the hours until dawn reacquainting himself with stories told to him as a child.

"Oi," a rough voice echoed in Kyomushugi's sparsely decorated room, interrupting the calming silence.

"What is it, Zetsubou?" he responded to the call with little regard.

"The Old Man wants to see you."

"And you felt the need tell me that yourself?" Kyomushugi mumbled, looking up curiously from his book. Inagawa Zetsubou, the immediate heir to the Inagawa Family, stood towering in the open doorway. The extremely tall and thin man looked down on everything, especially his younger brother who was born of his father's second wife—something Zetsubou took every possible chance to mention—so it was startling to see him delivering a message. He glared at Kyomushugi underneath his dark shoulder-length hair, straight bangs hanging in front of his good eye. His left damaged orb hid underneath a black eye patch, but even then it shot a piercing stare of disapproval.

"No," Zetsubou said, his lip curled into a harsh sneer. "_He_ asked me to."

Kyomushugi knew that his older half-brother would never turn down a request from their father, even if Zetsubou would hate him for it. And no one questioned the Inagawa leader, not even his own sons.

"I'll be there shortly." The younger Yakuza prince closed his book softly, before systematically making himself presentable.

"Oh, and before I forget," Zetsubou tugged at an arm, pulling a figure into the doorway. "Here."

The eldest Inagawa son shoved a young woman into Kyomushugi's room so hard that she stumbled and nearly fell face-first. Her shoulders were shaking and she kept her head down, her long dark brown waves falling out of place.

"I'm sick of this one," Zetsubou grumbled. "Too fucking weird for my taste. You can have her."

Kyomushugi flatted his lips into a hard line. Although women had no status in the world of Yakuza except for the leader's wife, it still bothered him to see the state of this one. Zetsubou had always been far from respectful, completely disregarding any sort of chivalry when it came to the female sex. If one refused him, it only made him more enraged and eager to take control. From the look of things, this young woman had certainly tried to fight back and failed in the end.

"Tell Father I will be there in a few minutes," Kyomushugi spoke clearly, not letting his eyes leave the visible bruises on the girl's wrists. "I've got to clean up your mess first."

Zetsubou narrowed a beady eye and turned on his heel, murmuring several curses as he hastily slammed the door to his younger brother's quarters. Once Kyomushugi was sure his half-brother was out of earshot, he slowly approached the young woman.

She was full-figured but looked as if she tried to hide her curves, wrapping her thin robe across her body and covering her ample breasts with her arms. As he got closer, she let her head fall further as not to show her face. She was trembling with fear, and with good reason—after what Zetsubou had subjected her to, he would be surprised if she said a single word in the next hour.

"Let me see you," Kyomushugi calmly ordered. With shaking hands, the young woman reached up to the top of her robe and began to pull the fabric over her shoulders.

"No," the Inagawa stopped her from continuing, "your face." Her hands froze in place before hesitantly pulling the silk back up, hiking it up around her neck. Kyomushugi heard a quiet sob escape her lips.

"Let me see you," he repeated, more firmly this time.

The chocolate-colored layered waves shook as she slowly lifted her head to her new consort. She sniffled and swallowed the rising lump in her throat. She dared not to look this powerful young man, keeping her large, pale gold orbs hidden beneath disheveled bangs. Her eyes were rimmed with red and still filled with tears that threatened to fall. The horizontal gash across the bridge of her nose was fairly fresh, and the bruise from the impact spread to the puffy skin under her lower lashes.

Kyomushugi frowned and shook his head in disgust. She would have been very pretty before Zetsubou had gotten his hands on her. She was probably picked out of a lineup from recent acquisitions; by her stance and reservations, she was obviously not a prostitute by choice. He reached up to examine her face for further damage, and she immediately winced.

"Hold still," he commanded. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Her hooded eyes blinked with disbelief, but she didn't jump back in fear. Kyomushugi's pale hand reached up to her chin, and gently moved her head from side to gauge any further damage by Zetsubou's enraged fists. Luckily, she only had a few other scrapes and bruises that would heal in time, but she would probably end up with a scar across her nose. He withdrew his hand and positioned it in its usual place inside the pockets of his slacks.

"Mouretsu," he spoke to the closed door. With a quiet click, the door cracked open.

"Yes, Boss?" a deep, gruff voice responded.

"Have some fresh towels and hot water sent to my quarters."

"Right away," the man complied, immediately relaying the information to a nearby servant.

Kyomushugi stepped back from the woman and slipped on his suit jacket, starting to walk out of the room and to the meeting with his father. "Clean yourself up," he ordered, not even looking back over his shoulder. "I'll keep my guard Mouretsu outside the room to make sure Zetsubou won't step foot into my quarters."

He was almost at the door when he felt a hand tap his arm. He glanced to the side to see the young woman standing there, her eyes filled with gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered in a soft soprano.

"Don't be absurd," Kyomushugi corrected. "I'm not here for charity. You'll fetch a better price when you're cleaned up."

He might as well have slapped the girl across her face. He left her stunned and alone in his room, her eyes wide and frozen in place. As a tear escaped an inner corner of her eye, it mixed with recently dried blood down the crease in her cheek.

'_Stop it,'_ her inner voice told her, _'You can't let them see you so weak.'_

"I can't," she whispered, her chin quivering as she parted her mouth to speak aloud. Tears kept rolling down her cheeks in consistent lines. "I—I can't stop."

'_You have to,'_ the voice said. _'You don't want to end up like the last girl who showed too much weakness, do you?'_

Her light golden eyes trembled as she remembered the lifeless look on the face another girl who had been forced into prostitution to pay off a debt to the Yakuza. The man had purchased both of them for a few hours, but the other girl—even younger than her own nineteen years—had cried and shouted so much that the man's fists had shut her up for good. Abuse and humiliation was one thing, but death was on a whole other level.

To be honest, she found pleasure in most pain, so she did not entirely object the brothel work she had been assigned to. Prostitution was a humbling experience in her eyes, with the ability to bring her psyche down to earth. Her mind was often filled with visions of events yet to come, or a stray ghost would find its way to her for help into the next life. These paranormal experiences jaded the young woman and most days she barely felt as if she was connected to this plane. Physical pain was a pleasant reminder that she was still human.

But Zetsubou had other ideas. He wouldn't let her just feel the pain that brought light into her eyes and instead ordered her to fight back and cry. No, not just cry—_beg_ for mercy. The sick man enjoyed the harsh screams of terror that ripped through her vocal chords as he raped her again and again. It was a humiliation she did not want to repeat, but for now, she was at the mercy of the hands of another Yakuza warlord.

"You're right," she spoke to herself. "I can't give up."

'_Do you remember what your sister said to you before you were taken away?'_

"Of course I do," she closed her eyes at the memory.

'_Then be strong. Do not forget, __Hyouki Reiyou.'_

"I will be strong," Reiyou clenched a fist over her heart. She opened her eyes, now dry and free from tears. "I won't forget what you told me, my sister…my friend.

"I _will_ see you again, Sarugaki Hiyori."

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* * *

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"Shit man, how far is this place?" Hiyori grumbled, her voice thick with irritation.

"Just a little bit further; hold your horses," Souken replied with a slightly annoyed tone. "Be grateful it's far enough away that it wasn't destroyed in the war."

Shinji kept to himself as they walked to the Shinto shrine hidden within a dense forest just north of Yakuza territory in Yokohama. The area was difficult to navigate and even less welcome to impatient troops, so it had thankfully remained intact. The Ishida family had been the _kannushi_—the sacred caretakers—of this particular temple for generations, and Souken would not let that responsibility die until the building itself fell to the ground.

Soon enough, the trees began to part and the first of many moss covered stone stairs lead the way to the top of the hill. The uneven steps were shallow and easy to climb, but the path was long and winding. After giving up counting the number of steps they passed, the sloping roof of the shrine finally came into view.

"About damn time," Hiyori scoffed, immediately making her way to the temple entrance. The walk wasn't tiring by any means, but she was still pissed that she couldn't use shunpo in daylight; and today was fucking hot—she wanted some shade and water. She set foot onto the stone path to the entrance, when suddenly it felt as if she had walked into a glass door that nearly knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled back and took in quick, deep breaths to recover.

"What the…fuck?" she murmured, her golden-brown eyes narrowing with exasperation.

"Hmph," Shinji lifted the corner of his mouth in a crooked smirk of approval. "Well isn't _that_ interesting?" He stepped in line next to his petite counterpart, holding a hand up to the invisible barrier.

"What's wrong?" Souken walked right past them without any resistance.

"Your clan's reputation precedes them," the tall Vizard said, nodding with rare respect, but Ishida could only give him a look of confusion in return.

"There's a powerful barrier spell placed around this shrine," Hirako explained. "That's probably why this place has held up unscathed for so long. It only allows entrance for certain souls."

"I thought you guys _were_ souls? I mean, isn't your body just…a puppet?" The idea that these two people who looked, walked and acted just like living people but were really just dead souls inside a fake shell was difficult for Souken to get used to. But for the moment, he had no choice but to believe them. In truth, he had no reason _not _to believe all that Hirako-san had told him. After what happened in that back alley last night and awakening his own spiritual power, his instincts decided to take over.

"We are," Shinji agreed, "but I said _certain_ souls. As in, only pure souls are allowed."

"But you _are_—" Souken tried to reason.

"No, we're not," Shinji interrupted. "Humans are pure souls—either living or dead. What we are…is something different. For one, the Quincy War only increased dislike towards Shinigami. This barrier was probably put in place those years ago to keep people like us out.

"And two," he trailed off for a moment, "it's a defense against hollows."

"So," Souken slowly nodded in understanding, "it's a double barrier for you guys, then."

Hiyori nibbled on her lip, her long fang biting down as Shinji could see the wheels in her head churning. "There has to be a counter spell or an incantation or something to break it," she thought aloud.

Shinji lightly frowned. "I don't think taking down the barrier is an option here."

"I'm not talking about taking it down, you dumbass," she rolled her eyes. "There has to be some kind of invitation of sorts for temporary access, or that maybe even grants an individual the right to pass through. I mean, if someone died here, Shinigami had to get in to do a soul burial."

"What about letting a hollow in?" the older Vizard questioned.

"You know, you talk smart, but you're really a total moron," Sarugaki huffed, crossing her arms under her chest. "Of _course_ it had to let a hollow in, too. Young Quincy have to practice on real targets, don't they? Where else better to attract a hollow for killing than hidden in a forest?"

"Well if you're the brain child here, Snaggletooth, then why don't you figure out what the incantation is?" Shinji haughty teased.

"That's what I'm doing, dickhead!" Hiyori immediately struck a foot out and kicked him in the shin, causing him to yelp and clutch his leg. She ignored his overly dramatic reaction and turned her attention to Souken.

"You," she pointed to him like a schoolmarm to a student. "Now this is important, so pay attention. Did your parents have a special prayer? Maybe one that was said when someone passed away?"

Souken blinked behind his round glasses, slightly furrowing his dark brows. "I don't… I'm not sure."

"Something traditional, but only in your family—passed down through the generations?" Hiyori continued to force his memory.

"Um…"

"Think!" she impatiently ordered.

"I'm trying, give me a sec!" Souken raised his voice with a frown.

"Damn, touchy," Hiyori commented. Shinji scoffed at the irony of her statement.

The young Quincy took in a calming breath and thought back to the days when his parents were alive. They had him study the teachings and learn the routines for keeping the place presentable, but he was not allowed to take part in the final prayers for passage. As the appointed _kannushi_, only they had the knowledge and power to send a person's soul to the next life. However, Souken had always been a curious child, so he would sit outside the doors with an ear to what was going on. He closed his eyes and imagined his parents' words being spoken in unison, but the verses were muddy and he couldn't distinguish anything that stood out amongst the traditional prayers.

Souken deepened the frown on his face in frustration. There wasn't anything in his studies that pointed to a specific set of phrases or incantations. This wasn't going to work.

'_Think,'_ his father's voice popped into his head. _'Think about that day.'_

The last Ishida descendant swallowed the lump in his throat. _'I don't want to think about that day.'_

'_You have to,'_ his father's warm voice comforted the painful memories that flooded his vision.

His small family had led a quiet life atop the secluded Shinto shrine, even throughout the destruction of World War II. It had been several years since anyone had even visited the shrine, and each who did seemed to be there for a purpose. His parents would help the visitors to the best of their abilities, but the temple seemed more like a hospice than a place of worship. The last time an innocent person had found the shrine was the last time Souken had seen his parents alive.

For the most part, his family had avoided the conflict this ugly war brought and remained servants to the Shinto purpose instead of what the Imperial Government dictated. But that morning, a lone American soldier had crawled his way up the steps of the shrine, dragging his lifeless legs along with him. His parents immediately provided assistance without hesitation, knowing full well they were giving aid to an enemy. Their goals and beliefs did not follow the preaching of racial ideas that the Government pushed onto the masses, and instead valued the importance of life—no matter what race or nationality. So, when the mortally wounded soldier found himself on their front steps, his parents had taken this as a sign from the Gods to make this soul's passage as comfortable as possible.

But what they didn't know what that a small group of Japanese soldiers had been on the young American's trail the entire time.

Souken hadn't been there when it happened—he had been running an errand in town for their usual grocery run and took the secluded path home to avoid being detected by troops, both from Axis and Allied sides. The passage through the forest was tough, but he knew the way well after going through it many times. He was nearing the top of the hill when he had heard the gunfire shots.

The ringing sound of fired bullets bounced off the trees and quickly absorbed into the dense brush. Souken froze in place with a startle and his breath caught in his throat. The next few moments had passed by in a blur, but the seconds ticked by slowly as if they were in minutes. He had dropped the grocery bags, and the contents spilled out from the sacks. Fruits and vegetables bounced down the hill and smashed against rocks as gravity took them. He had run as fast as his ten-year-old legs could carry him, but it wouldn't have made a difference.

Strangers' voices had been shouting and arguing as he had approached the shrine and ducked under thick brush to conceal his presence. He trembled in horror and his dark eyes grew wide when he spotted his parents slumped to the ground, their bodies unmoving and blood pooling underneath. His first instinct had been complete anger and vengeance—the terror of his tremors changed to adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had begun to make a move to tackle one of the soldiers, but something stopped him just then.

His parents had been barely alive, but his father caught his son's vengeful eyes and silently ordered him to wait there. The elder _kannushi_ knew that if the Japanese soldiers found Souken, he would be killed for treason, too. As the soldiers raised their voices into a heated argument about whether or not to burn down the shrine, Souken had to watch his parents bleed out while trying to with all his might to will his legs to stay put.

When a strong gush of wind had pushed through the temple's grounds and storm clouds formed above, the soldiers suddenly grew scared and backed out of their plans. Fearing the Gods' wrath for killing Shinto priests, the three members of the Imperial Army had scattered and made haste away from the shrine. When their voices had faded into the distance, Souken scrambled to his parents' sides.

"Father! Mother!" his cries were muffled against the fabric on their bodies.

"It's all right, my son," his father had whispered.

"How can you say that?" Souken had bawled, tears streaming down his face. "They shot you! Our own people, they…" his chin quivered.

"I hate them."

"Do not hate, my son," his father had comforted. "Just try to understand."

"But I _don't_ understand it," the ten-year-old boy blubbered.

"You will," his father had said with confidence. With his last strength, he had gripped his son's hand and pulled him close for his final whispered words.

At the time, what Souken's father had said didn't seem to make any sense, and for years he couldn't understand it. But looking back at it now, and knowing what power ran through his blood, it all seemed to fall in place. Souken closed his eyes and recited the words that he had embedded into his memory long ago:

"_Arrows, let flown each to each _

_Meet midway and slice _

_The void in aimless flight — _

_Thus, return to the source."_

Souken felt that warmth flow through him that he had come to recognize has his spiritual power. He lifted his hands out towards the two Vizards, palms open.

"Take my hands," he commanded to each of them. When they complied, he released a tiny bit of that warmth and transferred it to Shinigami-Hollow hybrids. A moment of tense silence passed in the calm.

"Did it work?" the young man opened one eye.

"Only one way to find out," Shinji shrugged, releasing his grip on the Quincy's hand. He stepped up to the barrier and took a breath, then put one foot past the invisible wall. He grinned a toothy smile.

"Good job, kid."

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews are like pie...tasty pumpkin pie with whipped cream!

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks bunches to **Jazzpha** for the beta read! Go check out his stuff, it's a cornucopia of goodness.

This chapter took a bit longer than expected to get out. The section about Souken's parents was difficult for me to write due to a recent death in the family :-/

The "spell" that Souken speaks is actually part of a documented Japanese Death Poem. Death Poems were said to bring enlightenment or clarity, written literally in the moments before death. This particular one was by Gesshu Soko, who died January 10, 1696, at age 79.

And for the final note...if you are still lost on figuring out which current characters are included in this "past" story, just plug in the character's first name into a translator. There you'll find that character's aspect of death or a characteristic they have.

_"Michiyuki" by Kaori Hikita - translation: "Path"_


	7. Chase This Light

*Disclaimer: Bleach and respective characters belong to Kubo Tite, however this story belongs to me.

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_Inagawa House_

The meeting with Boss Inagawa had gone better than anticipated. The Yakuza Warlord was pleased that his second-son had been given this special assignment, and agreed that Kyomushugi's tactics would be better suited than his first-son Zetsubou. A spiritual man, Boss Inagawa believed in what Inari had told his son, but something else bothered him. By putting several Yakuza Houses against each other in competition, the messenger Inari was playing with fire. He suspected the value on this artifact would be worth far more if kept, than if handed over to the white-haired fox man. If Inari's boss was so keen on paying a fantastic sum of money for this piece, then there was more to this mysterious artifact than they were led to believe.

With afternoon approaching, Kyomushugi headed back to his room to continue his research into the paranormal world. His father's confidence in him and personal spiritual beliefs had given him the reassurance he needed to go full force into the project. He nodded to his large bodyguard, who gave him a small bow in respect and moved away from the entrance to his room.

Once inside, Kyomushugi immediately frowned at what he saw. The girl Zetsubou had dumped at his feet had cleaned herself up, but she had also invaded his organized space. To make matters worse, she was sitting in _his_ chair at _his_ desk slumped across the notes he had so carefully gathered during his hours of research. He approached her sleeping form with deliberate strides, ready to put in her in place.

"What is it that you think you are doing?" he firmly interrupted the silence.

The young woman woke up with a start, and her pale gold eyes darted around the room as if she wasn't sure where she was. A moment later, she realized what was going on instantly apologized for overstepping her bounds.

"I—I'm sorry," she spattered, trying to organize the papers on the desk. Kyomushugi stopped her actions, slamming a pale hand on top of the notes.

"I asked you a question, woman," the words dripped icily from his thin lips. "_What_ are you doing?"

She hesitantly raised her head to look up at him between her walnut-colored bangs. He was unusually surprised that her large eyes held no fear, only embarrassment that she had been caught. "Correcting these notes," her soft soprano voice meekly said.

"_Excuse me?_" Kyomushugi practically hissed.

"I…was curious," she made sure to carefully word. "I understand this—this other world, I mean. I saw some things that weren't right in these notes and made corrections to them."

"How dare you," the Yakuza prince furrowed his brows. His green-teal eyes glared at the young woman with a look that could kill. She met his gaze head on, her confidence never faltering. "What makes you so bold?"

"Because I know that I'm right," she spoke lowly, more serious this time. Kyomushugi frowned and snatched his papers away from her, looking over the changes she made. As he read through her scribbled notes and quick diagram sketches, the reality that she actually _did_ know what she was talking about began to sink in. He moved to a wingback armchair to sit and read further.

"How do you know all of this?" he questioned, glancing up at her with curiosity.

"I've always known," she shrugged. Kyomushugi lowered the papers and turned his attention on her.

"Explain."

The young woman wet her full lips and kept her gaze elsewhere. She drummed her slender fingers against the seat of the chair.

"I have what my grandmother called 'The Eyes,' " she began slowly. "For as long as I can remember, I've been able to see ghosts, and they see me. But," she paused, finally lifting her eyes to his, "that's not the only thing I see."

Kyomushugi crossed his arms. "Continue," he spoke less sternly this time.

"Sometimes they come as dreams in the night. Sometimes it's when I'm awake. But either way, they're things I shouldn't know. Flashes. Images. Just…" she trailed off.

"They're things that haven't happened yet. And no matter what I do, they always come true."

The young Inagawa unwrapped his arms and leaned forward with interest. "Are you saying that you can predict the future? That you're," he paused to search for the right word, "psychic?"

"No," the woman shrugged. "More like…a visionary? Sometimes they're not events. Sometimes they are just people or objects. But I know deep down," she pressed an open palm to her heart, "that these things are all important."

Kyomushugi slowly nodded and sat back in his leather armchair. He contemplated what she had said, then looked up at her with suspicion. "Why should I believe you?"

"One of my visions was about you," she explained. "So it's not about whether or not you believe me. What is going to happen has already been set in motion."

The Yakuza prince thinned his lips, struggling to decide whether or not to believe anything this girl said. She was a sex slave, bought and paid for, so he would not have any reason to trust her, but his instincts began to gnaw against logic. His thoughts went back to his father and Inari, both of who firmly believed in these other worlds. If he was to find this legendary artifact, then he would have to take a chance on the unknown.

"What did you see?" he hesitantly asked.

The young woman fished around in the folds of her robe until one of her hands emerged with a scrap of worn paper. She pushed up against her chair and strode across to him with elegant steps. "This," she extended her hand, two fingers holding the paper towards him.

Kyomushugi took the scrap from her, and his thin hand brushed against her warm skin. A small spark lit up in that moment—something he hadn't noticed before. But he pushed the awkward feeling aside and unfolded the crumpled parchment. Sketched out on the paper was a drawing of an object: a dark orb surrounded by a transparent hexagonal sphere. It didn't seem like much, but it felt like something suddenly clicked into place.

"What is this?" he asked in a low voice.

"I'm…not sure," the young woman admitted. "But I feel like you're looking for it. You're looking for something, aren't you? Something important?"

"Yes, I am," he said calmly. Kyomushugi was stunned but he didn't show it on his face. Instead he studied the drawing in wonder, curious if this was the object Inari's master was willing to pay such a gross amount for. It seemed harmless enough, but for now he would remain cautious.

"There's one thing I'm not certain of," he continued after a few moments. "Why tell me all of this? Revealing your power to me—especially to someone like me—puts you in a dangerous situation. Your powers are too great to be let go. You'll never be able to leave."

The young woman briefly took her eyes off of him, contemplating his words. "I don't always know why I say or do the things that I do. Just that they're important. I don't write my own future, as you can probably tell, all I do is follow the course that has been laid out in front of me."

"That is a very trusting way of looking at life," Kyomushugi criticized. "I believe in my making my own path."

The girl nodded. "It's often more difficult to have faith in something than take charge of your own life."

"Are you attempting to lecture me?" the Inagawa spoke with caution.

"No," she smiled, shaking her head. "Just offering a different viewpoint."

Kyomushugi studied her audacity with a curious eye. No one dared to talk to him the way she did, and it was unnerving—more so the fact that her straightforwardness didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"Why would I be afraid of you?"

"Most people are."

"I'm not like most people." The woman stepped closer until her thigh brushed up against his knee. The heat from the small touch surprised the Yakuza prince and that feeling of want he had cast aside just moments before bubbled up again. Standing before him, she looked down into his striking juniper eyes, the color now growing darker as his primitive side came to life.

Kyomushugi had to admit that she was most intriguing. Aside from her powers as a psychic medium, it was her attitude that impressed him the most. From the look in her eyes, she truly did not fear him—something other women had told him before but had been shaking as they said it. There was truth in her voice and all that she confessed, another thing that he wasn't used to in the Yakuza world of lies and deception. She really wasn't like most people after all.

"What's your name?" Inagawa asked, rare sincerity hanging on his words.

The young woman softly smiled, her light gold orbs glistening. "Hyouki Reiyou," she said in one breath, her soprano tone now lowered into a near alto. Kyomushugi stiffened his posture, unsure what her next motives were.

Reiyou's brows furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"You don't have to do this just because it's what you were bought for."

"But I'm not," she insisted.

"I find that difficult to believe."

Reiyou's large eyes blinked. "Why?" she asked, her voice suddenly as innocent as a child's. "You believed I have these spiritual gifts, and yet you question my motives?"

"I always question people's motives. And I didn't say that I believed you have psychic powers. You just assumed that I did because I accepted this scenario."

The young woman lightly scoffed, shaking her head. "You still don't get it do you?"

Kyomushugi's lips thinned into a small frown. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can see what's in your heart," Reiyou explained. "You come off as untrusting, cold, and calculated. But that's not who you really are." She reached for his face once more.

"Your heart is sad and lonely," she whispered. She lightly cupped his angular cheeks and trailed her thumbs down from the center of his eyes to his jaw line. "It's crying. Your heart is always crying."

The gentle strokes of her soft skin on his face affected the Yakuza prince more than he expected. He could feel his walls break down slowly, crumbling down from their icy form. But this wasn't how things should be. He couldn't allow himself to show any weakness.

Kyomushugi stood, brushing Reiyou's caring hands away. He kept his back turned to her for fear that looking into her gold irises would make the rest of him melt. Fear—that wasn't something he had experienced in a long time, and yet this one young woman had the ability to stir up all that he had held in over the years. He headed towards the door with the overwhelming need to find an escape from these feelings.

"Wait," Reiyou spoke after him. Her bare footsteps followed his. "I didn't mean to…" She sighed and cautiously walked towards him. "I didn't mean to offend. Don't leave. Please."

Her hands slipped under his arms and hugged his chest, her bosom pressing against his well-toned back. An unanticipated rush of conflicting emotions that ran through Kyomushugi's veins in that very moment made it difficult for him to breathe. A knot formed in his throat but he forced himself to swallow it. With a near-trembling hand, he slowly reached up and clasped her arm, his thumb stroking her soft skin.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again. "Don't feel you have to leave because of something I said."

Inagawa licked his suddenly dry lips. Only after a few moments he spoke. "I'm not…" he paused. "I'm not used to this."

"Used to what?" her sweet voice reverberated throughout his bones.

"Feeling," he said flatly. "It's not a good thing to have in my line of business."

He felt her smile against his back. "Well, I won't tell anyone."

Reiyou kept her arms around him until his rigid body began to relax, then she hesitantly let go and stepped away. "I'll stay out of your way. I know you have more work to do."

"No," Kyomushugi breathed. He could hardly believe his own words or how quickly he had turned and caught her arm before she could get away. Her pale gold eyes studied him with an intensity he had never experienced before. His heart beat between his ears and he had to count his breaths.

"You can help. I'd like for you to help."

Reiyou smiled.

"But I am curious," Kyomushugi took slow steps to close the gap between them. "Earlier today you were ready to get out of here at a moment's notice. You were terrified of me. Why the sudden change?"

"It wasn't _you_ that I was frightened of," she explained. "It was _him_."

"You mean Zetsubou. What did he do to you?"

Reiyou turned her eyes away from him and looked at the ground. "They don't have words for what he did to me. But that's not the only reason why." She paused and took in a breath to steady herself.

"His heart is so empty. It's like looking into an endless void filled with nothing but hopelessness and despair. Its pulse was weak and sluggish, like it was being pulled down by tar. Just being around him felt like I was hit by a ton of bricks. I don't ever want to feel that way again.

"But when I was brought to your room, that horrible feeling began to go away. You may not see it, and even others may not, but I do." She stepped close to him and placed her hand on his chest. "Your heart may be sad, but it beats loudly. Pride. Honor. That's its rhythm—and it's strong.

She pressed against his chest. "It's here."

"And here," her hands moved to frame his face, brushing back layered strands.

Kyomushugi briefly allowed himself to feel her hands against his cheeks before reaching up and deliberately pull them away. "We have a lot of work to do," he said with much less sternness than earlier. "Teach me what you know."

Reiyou nodded with a small grin, pleased that he was living up to the man she knew he was inside and thrilled to notice that he hadn't let go of her hands.

'_There is much to know,'_ her voice said. _'And the clock is ticking.'_

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_Ishida Shrine_

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" Souken grumbled with obvious irritation. He was on Hiyori's heels as she tore from room to room in the temple, on the hunt for something. "Don't you have _any_ respect?"

The petite Vizard rolled her eyes and continued looking, pulling up rugs and nearly flipping over tables. She tried to tuned out the Quincy's ranting, keeping her mind focused on finding what she was looking for. With an exasperated huff, she spun around and headed towards the center room in the temple. When she got to an open doorway, a small area opened up, revealing a square courtyard with a single tree sprouting from the center. The old maple tree's trunk was strong, but not wide, and rose up nearly to the tall roofs of the shrine. A multitude of crimson red leaves gave vibrancy to the otherwise dying ground. Branches twisted and reached towards the sky, as if they were trying to connect to the heavens themselves.

Taking slower paces, Hiyori walked around the tree, examining the short marble pillars that encircled the trunk. Each held a prayer inscription and another symbol she recognized as Quincy markings—signatures of sorts that recorded the generations that had been passed down. There were a total of eleven small prism stones and one much larger formation that pointed to the north. Twelve total—evenly spaced—representing time.

She stopped by the largest pillar, a grey marble prism that easily stood six feet tall and two feet in width and depth. This was the most elaborate of all the pieces that surrounded the maple. Lines of scripture ran down the sides, but the front was decorated with an amazingly intricate geometric pattern. It was chiseled into the stone like a maze, and the totality of the labyrinth appeared like knot work. Hiyori's small fingers traced the lines, searching for what stood out above the rest. But then Souken's face got in her way, blabbing about some bullshit nonsense.

"…you come in here and just start wrecking the place! This is a _temple_! A place of worship! You can't just—"

"Shut," Hiyori's brows narrowed, "Up." Her eyes glared and gave the teenager a look that could kill.

"No!" Souken frowned, standing up to her menacing aura. "This is my _home_. And you're just blatantly disregarding everything!"

"I said," the Vizard's amber eyes flashed daggers, "shut the fuck up."

"Hey, watch your language in here," Ishida scolded. "You _are_ in a shrine."

"It's not like I'm going to Hell for it. I'm already dead," she shot back. Hiyori tuned out Souken's whiny voice again as she went back to deciphering the puzzle. When the tips of her fingers brushed across an odd formation in the marble, her expression changed from annoyance to smug triumph.

"I need _this_," she said to Souken, and snapped off the Quincy pentacle he was wearing around his neck.

"Hey, give that back!" the youngster cried out and frantically grabbed for the heirloom. Hiyori easily evaded each reach, laughing and teasing him along the way. "Hirako-san!" the boy finally called out.

"Che," Sarugaki scoffed. "Fuckin' tattler."

Shinji leaned against the frame of the opening to the courtyard with a look of indifference on his face. "What? You can't handle her?"

Hiyori stuck her tongue out to Souken in victory. "Real mature," the older Vizard commented.

"Like you're one to talk."

Shinji chose to ignore her baiting for another argument—he was much more interested in what she had found. Dry leaves crunched under his leather shoes as he joined the other two in front of the large pillar. The afternoon sun cast an irregular shadow across the place, partially because of the shapes of the roofs, but mainly due to the power this area held.

"What is it?" he asked with seriousness in his voice.

Hiyori let an arrogant grin cross her face. "It's a lock. See?" she traced the carved lines again, drawing a pattern out with a finger. "And this," she lifted up the five-pointed pentacle, "is a key."

She carefully aligned the rods to the indentations in the marble, placed it within the sculpture, and pressed. The other two held their breath, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did.

"What is this shit?" Sarugaki cursed. She pulled the pentacle out and repeated the process.

Still nothing.

Shinji snickered. Hiyori slapped the back of his head. Souken rolled his eyes.

"Look," Ishida started, "you said before that this whole area was protected with seals, right? Well, maybe this is too. Why don't I give it shot?" With a grin, he added, "I _am_ the Last Quincy after all."

"Well ain't you so arrogant all of a sudden," Hiyori teased. She dangled the pentacle out of the teenager's reach, an impressive feat considering her small size. After a moment of hesitation and much internal struggle with her pride, she rolled her eyes and handed the necklace back to its rightful owner.

Souken took in a breath and stood his ground in front of the pillar. "Remember," Shinji's voice spoke behind him, "concentrate. Focus all the energy into point and then let it go."

The Quincy nodded and licked in lips with nervousness. His dark eyes blinked behind round frames, but he forced himself to steady the anxiety building up in his veins.

'_Focus,'_ he told himself. '_Focus.'_ Souken inserted the pentacle key into the grooves of the stone, closed his eyes and concentrated on the warm energy. He envisioned it like a river with its stream growing smaller in width as it flowed towards the tips of his fingers. There, he molded that flow into a dense ball, its light ever increasing in intensity as the power grew.

"Open your eyes," he heard Shinji say. The Quincy's lashes fluttered as he complied. He nearly gasped at what he saw.

As his blue reiatsu seeped from his fingertips, it began to fill the every channel of the marble labyrinth. The light built up momentum and the maze spread quicker. Soon, the entirety of the chiseled knot work was beaming with a brilliant white-blue. The framed edge of the pillar lit up last in a near-blinding surge of light. In that moment, the stone sculpture changed. The face of the structure moved back, descending as it moved itself into the depth of the entire prism. A set of stone stairs lowered themselves down into the earth, curving into a spiral staircase. When the maze piece finally reached the back of the pillar, the reiatsu dispersed throughout the steps and walls, revealing a path to unseen depths.

"Wow," Hiyori poked her head into the doorway. "I'd read about these in scrolls but I never thought I'd see one. It's a lot more impressive than I thought it was."

"Take that compliment," Shinji remarked to Souken, "first and last time that will ever happen."

Hiyori's sandal was quickly off her foot and slapped against the side of Hirako's head. He yelped in response. "Shut up," the young woman haphazardly commented. "Just follow me."

She ducked into the lit doorway and descended the stairs; the other two followed suit. Souken's spiritual energy continued to move through carved shapes in the walls as they walked down, lighting their way through the depths. The blue reiatsu reflecting off white stone made the staircase feel as if it was a piece of the ocean itself. It might as well have been deep as an ocean too, because there was no visible end to the vertical tunnel. Shinji mentally counted the number of steps to calculate how far down into the earth they were going. By this point, the total was getting high enough for him to figure out that they had traveled at least fifty feet underground and there was still more to go. Just when he was getting bored counting, the stairs finally opened up into a doorway. The Quincy's reiatsu had lead the way to a massive room at the base of the stairs, reminiscent of the underground training area that Urahara had built—only this was much more highly decorated than the former Twelfth Division Captain's taste in desert wastelands and fake skies.

It was definitely a training ground, the Vizards were sure of that. A flat, open area took up the majority of the middle of the room like a dojo. The ground was worn stone, riddled with scars from Quincy arrows and other formed weapons. Surrounding the level floor were a series of square and rectangular stones built up into obstacles as tall as buildings. They scattered and grouped together to create a more dynamic playing field. Some had fallen from their height, while others had been toppled over completely from being destroyed at the base. For the most part, the colossal prisms remained intact and there was evidence rebuilding—but on the other hand, this place looked like it hadn't been used in quite some time.

"What is this?" Souken's curiosity was piqued.

"Where Quincy learn to fight," Hiyori immediately answered. "But this is more than a training ground." Her eyes followed the lines in the walls until they reached a section of the room with a lower ceiling. She motioned with her head to the area, "It's your entire family history."

"What?" Ishida breathed. He followed the path she was nudging towards, a segment of the room several yards away that didn't have the same type of feeling or look as the rest of the grounds. As if he was drawn to that spot by an instinctual force, his feet moved towards it.

Walking was more difficult than he thought it was. The Last Quincy felt a weight drop on him as each foot picked up to take a step. He reached out a hand to touch a nearby wall, finding renewed strength in the stone and all the energy that passed through it. He paused halfway to the smaller room to take a breath.

'_My family history,'_ he repeated Hiyori's words to himself. Up until now, he thought he a firm grip on what his family was and had always been. They were _kannushi_, simple folk who lived by Shinto teachings, farming and maintaining the temple as their forefathers had done generation after generation. But now it was if everything had changed. The life he thought he had felt like a lie and he felt an irrational anger bubble up. Why hadn't his parent's told him? Why didn't they teach him about the powers that dwelled within him? Why did they have to die? Souken balled a fist against the wall and leaned his forehead against the cool stone, fighting back hot tears.

'_Souken,' _a voice whispered.

He blinked back the tears from falling at the sound. That voice…where did it come from?

'_Souken,' _it whispered again. He shifted his eyes towards the small room—it beckoned him. He took in a shaky breath and forced his feet to continue their journey. Getting closer to the goal, what this room was becoming clear: it was a memorial.

At the base of a large wall, a line of incense had been left out of respect—burnt down to the stalks. Above that hung dozens upon dozens of name plaques. For recent years, there was a photograph of each person; for earlier, a woodblock print; and for even earlier years there were simply calligraphy scrolls. Each memorandum was connected to each other, creating a family tree that traced back hundreds of years. Souken followed the lines through his family tree until he reached his own parents…and him. A realization that his parents were the last people in this room suddenly hit. His knees gave out and he fell to the ground.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whimpered, covering his face with his hands.

'_Souken…'_ the voice said with sorrow._ 'We did not keep this from you on purpose.'_

The teenager sniffled and lifted his head. "Father?"

'_Son.'_

Souken's parents shifted into visible existence, standing with arms interlocked. His mother's round face smiled at him sweetly with sad eyes. His father looked at him with pride, his dark eyes soft behind round lenses.

'_We didn't mean to keep anything from you,'_ his father explained. _'It simply wasn't time for you to begin training yet. And then… we never got that chance.'_

"I hate them for that," Souken angrily murmured.

'_Don't,'_ his father placed a hand on his son's shoulder. _'It was fate. Do not seek vengeance; it will only eat away at your soul. One day you will learn to forgive your enemies, as we have.'_

"What do you mean?"

'_Shingami and Quincy were enemies for a very long time, but that war was not ours, it belonged to our ancestors. We welcome them into our home now with open minds and open hearts.'_

"But this war is _now_," Souken argued. "It _just_ happened. I can't forgive them that easily."

'_You must,'_ his mother gently insisted. _'You cannot hold on to that anger. It will only consume you. Instead, concentrate on what you have.'_

"I don't have anything," Ishida admitted, his head hung low.

'_You do,'_ she cupped her son's cheek. _'You have what's inside—this wonderful power that you will discover. And you have two friends that can help you along the way.'_

Souken glanced behind him and saw Shinji and Hiyori quietly standing by.

'_They're Shinigami. They can guide you.'_

"Wait, how did you— " he started. "How could you sense what they were?"

His father smiled. _'Quincy have different senses. You'll learn that soon enough.' _His translucent hand gestured further down the wall to cases and compartments. _'Everything you'll need to learn about who your people are and how to use your powers can be found here.'_

Turning his attention to the two Vizards, the eldest Ishida spoke, _'My son is the last of his kind. Please take care of him.'_

Shinji nodded and Hiyori lightly did the same. Souken's parents began to fade out of view.

"Wait!" the teenager cried out to them. With longing eyes he turned to the blonde pair. "Can you help them get to the other side?"

"No," Hiyori answered flatly, careful not to show how this spectacle tugged at her heartstrings. "We're exiles. We no longer have the ability to perform a soul burial." Her frown lines were tight, but her head added a whisper of, _'I'm sorry.'_

'_It's all right,'_ Souken's mother reassured. _'We'll find a way.'_

His parents' ghostly figures faded into nothingness and then they were alone.

Shinji let Souken take a moment to gather himself, for there would be no rest for what was about to come. When he was sure the young man had steadied his breaths and his heartbeat returned to normal, it was time.

"Are you ready?" Hirako asked with a lightly humorous tone.

"Ready for what?" Souken arched his pointed black brows.

"You're the Last Quincy," Shinji grinned, his teeth gleaming. "You're going to have to learn how to fight."

"Really?" the boy grinned. "You're really going to teach me?"

"No," the tall Vizard smirked. "She is. At least, at first."

Hiyori gaped at Shinji's instructions. "_What?_ Oh, fuck no! Unless you want me to beat his ass into a bloody pulp, I ain't teaching shit." She defiantly crossed her arms over her chest with a huff and turned her nose up.

"That's _exactly_ what he needs," Shinji haughtily replied. "Hollows don't rest just because the living world has—this war never ends. And that means you," he pointed a long finger to Souken, "are going to have to learn _fast_."

"Now you're speakin' my language," Hiyori cackled like a crazed witch and cracked her knuckles.

Souken was sure her fang snarled at him in that moment. He gulped what air he could and only hoped he was prepared for this.

"Okay," he nodded. "Let's begin."

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**PLEASE - READ AND REVIEW!!**  
Reviews make me dance like no one's watching!

**Author's Notes:**

**_I AM SO, SO, SO, SO SORRY for the loooong delay :'(_**  
Life and all that implies happened and I took an unannounced hiatus for months. BAD ME.  
If you're still reading this, THANK YOU, YOU ROCK! And you got a long chapter!

Thanks are due to **JasoTheArtisan** for the beta read. I knew parts needed work :)  
Go finish **Anonymous** if you haven't yet, IT KICKS ASS. And check out the next installment, **Heroes**.

A a thanks for not sending me hate mail of "WHY DON'T YOU WRITE ANYMORE FFFUUUUUUUU"  
here is some inside information about the "OC's" - which aren't really my OC's :P

Zetsubou is Nnoitra ("zetsubou" means "despair" - Nnoitra's aspect of death)  
Kyomushugi is Ulquiorra ("kyomushugi" means "Nihilism" - Ulquiorra's aspect of death)  
Reiyou is Nel ("reiyou" means "antelope" - Nel's released form)

For now, enjoy! I can't promise to update soon, but I will try :D

~hugs, F1yMordecai

_"Chase This Light" - Jimmy Eat World_


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